


Making the Cut

by Deeranger



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anal Virgin Sam Winchester, Angst, Bottom Sam, Bukkake, Comeplay, Confused Sam Winchester, Crazy, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dreams vs. Reality, Drugged Sam Winchester, Drugged Sex, Fetish, Hair, Hair Kink, Hair-pulling, Hurt Sam Winchester, Insanity, Kidnapping, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, Obsessive Behavior, Oral Sex, Poor Sam Winchester, Psychological Trauma, Pubic Hair, Rape, Sam Winchester's Hair, Scared Sam Winchester, Sequel, Tied-Up Sam Winchester, Tumblr: spnkinkbingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2020-12-29 00:20:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21145640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deeranger/pseuds/Deeranger
Summary: It has been 3 months since Sam was kidnapped by a deranged admirer with a serious hair fetish. After his release the young Winchester is still haunted by nightmares about the encounter, but it is getting better. Or so he thought. Because one night everything just gets a whole lot worse, and he can no longer tell if his mind is playing tricks on him or not. What is real and what isn't?- Sequel to "Anonymous Devotion" -





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very dark and NSFW sequel to my fic "Anonymous Devotion". The stories can be read seperately, but I do recommend that you read (the much shorter) prequel first.  
This fic is part of the Tumlbr SPN Kink Bingo 2019, filling the square "bukkake".  
Please heed the warnings - and enjoy!

**3 MONTHS LATER**

Dropping his keys on the nightstand Sam let out a small sigh as he sat himself down on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face. God, he was tired. More than usual. Normally he didn’t have any problems with going to the bar with Dean after a hunt, calming his nerves with a few beers and just letting the adrenaline rush slowly fade during a game of pool or the like. But today he simply felt too tired to stay for much more than an hour, his head starting to throb and his body just longing for the warmth of the motel bed. So he had left Dean in the bar and had gone home on his own, wondering what the hell was going on with him feeling this fatigued all of a sudden. Maybe he had been pushing himself too hard lately, working overtime on research and going on one hunt after the other without a lot of sleep to fuel him? Maybe he was simply overworked. Still he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he was coming down with something. His head was sort of swimming, but he had only had two beers. Yeah, he was probably coming down with the flu, he thought to himself.

Letting out another sigh he cast a glance at the bathroom door and for a moment he thought it swirled a bit in front of his eyes. Blinking in surprise he wondered if maybe he had a fever and was seeing things – but the door looked perfectly normal again now, he realized. He was apparently just imagining things. He knew that fatigue could do that to a person, but so could a fever. He rubbed his face again, letting the back of his hand rest on his forehead, but the skin there didn’t feel hot at all. Slightly sweaty, but not hot. Still, whatever was causing this was making him feel weird and sort of lethargic, that was for sure. He felt strangely heavy. Apathetic. Not to mention sleepy as hell. And by now his eyelids were beginning to gradually close without him even realizing it.

Another sigh escaped him when he thought about the fact that he should probably shower before going to bed. But he really didn’t feel like it. Didn’t have the energy to, actually. Were the walls looking a little warped now? He wanted to blink to clear his vision, but before he knew it his back hit the sheets with a soft thud, springs in the mattress shrieking a little as he hit it. For a brief moment his mind raced to figure out if he had actually decided to just skip the shower and go straight to sleep – because he honestly couldn’t remember all of a sudden. If he wanted to sleep he should take his clothes off, but he was still fully dressed. Why was he still dressed?

Letting out a grunt he tried to sit up on the bed, but he found that he could barely lift his head. A spike of panic shot through his fuzzy mind, but it seemed to fade just as quickly as it had come. Had Dean come home from the bar yet? He thought he heard something by the door, but he was far from sure. A low noise escaped him when he looked up at the ceiling, fighting to keep his eyes open. The wooden planks seemed to be swirling around in strange patterns, the occasional whorls in the wood looking warped and lopsided and sort of evil somehow. Like menacing eyes glaring down at him.

“Dean…?” Sam heard himself say, his voice low and hoarse. He was pretty sure he could hear footsteps somewhere in the room, but he really didn’t trust any of his senses right now. The whorls in the wood wobbled above him, narrowing their dark eyes at him, and he closed his eyes to block them out and try to get the room to stop spinning. It didn’t work though. It felt like he was stuck on a carousel of some sort, just spinning around mindlessly, rendering him completely unable to tell what was up and what was down. Somewhere in his hazed mind he knew that something was wrong, that he should be alarmed – but the urge to sleep seemed to override the last remnants of logical thought left in his brain. The darkness behind his closed eyelids then seemed to grow pitch black, and he wanted to open his eyes to cling on to consciousness, to force himself to stay awake – but he realized that he couldn’t. It felt like his eyes had been taped effectively shut. And before he could even register it he dozed off, something that felt like warm cotton wrapping itself around him as he drifted into a dreamless sleep. 

* * *

Everything felt soft and warm, that strange cotton surrounding him still there, and Sam wasn’t sure if he was awake or not. It was almost like his mind kept flicking on and off, switching between black nothingness and a semi-aware state. He was pretty sure that he had fallen asleep on the motel bed just minutes ago, so that cotton feeling was probably just the bed sheets, he figured. He felt completely boneless, every muscle in his body lax and sluggish. As his mind woke up a bit more he realized that the back of his eyelids weren’t all dark as he would have thought – instead it seemed like light was seeping in. Probably just the lamp on the nightstand, he thought.

“Sam.”

His eyelids automatically twitched a little, attempting to let in more of that annoying light. Was someone saying his name?

“Sam.”

There it was again, but he wasn’t sure if he was just imagining it. Maybe Dean had come home from the bar already? Sam’s mind tried to convince him to just open his eyes and have a look, but his eyelids felt so damn heavy. And he felt sleepy. 

Suddenly something touched his cheek, tapping it lightly, and he gathered that it could only be fingertips. God damn it, why couldn’t Dean just let him sleep?

“Sam.”

A soft groan escaped him, and he discovered that he was turning his head away from the fingertips, annoyed at being woken up. By the movement it felt like some of that warm cotton slipped away, and his mind came somewhat back online. He realized that the tendons in the back of his neck were straining uncomfortably, and for the first time he felt a hint of pain instead of that fluffy warmth. Why was his neck straining? It didn’t make much sense to him.

“Sam, come on.”

Another discontent groan escaped him and finally he was able to crack his eyes open just a tiny bit. Light instantly poured in, and he squinted, feeling disoriented and groggy. Blinking he waited for his vision to adapt and adjust to the light, which was almost hurting his eyes. It seemed too bright. He didn’t remember that damn lamp being so bright at all.

“There you go.”

With a small huff Sam wanted to just close his eyes again to block out Dean and his attempt at waking him up – but in the same moment his eyes began to adjust, letting him catch a blurry glimpse of his surroundings. They looked sort of different and a hell of a lot brighter. Was it morning already? Dean must have opened the curtains for there to be this much light, and Sam wondered why he would do that. He usually never did.

“Wake up, already.”

Sam tried to straighten his neck, because the tendons and muscles in it were starting to scream at him. In that moment he realized that his head was bowed down, its weight tugging on the back of his neck viciously. Wait, was he sitting up? He was certain that he had just been lying down on the bed, wrapped in those warm sheets. And the feeling of cotton had disappeared, he realized. Groaning he tried to lift his head, muscles complaining and filling with lactic acid as a result. He blinked again, and this time the blur in his vision faded, making a chequered linoleum floor come into focus. This wasn’t the motel room.

“Good morning, sleepy-head.” 

Knitting his brows together Sam realized that it wasn’t Dean’s voice talking to him. And even though his mind was sleepy and fuzzy it instantly started to spin a little, and he tensed up, lifting his gaze from the floor. For a moment he was just staring blankly at some pots and pans neatly placed on a stove – and it didn’t take him long to realize that he was in a kitchen. Only, this one looked familiar.

“I'm happy to see you awake. I was starting to worry.”

There was that voice again. And it sounded just as familiar as the kitchen looked. Instantly Sam’s gut twisted into a tight knot, and he flicked his glance to the window. And there they were – those blue, semi-sheer curtains that he remembered all too well. He was back here, back in that damn kitchen with that creepy guy he had never even seen. His breath hitched in his throat. God, he hated these dreams… He thought that they had passed. After all, it had been three months since he woke up in the flower bed in front of the motel for his brother to find him, bewildered and with a huge bump on the back of his head – and missing a lock of his hair. He had been shocked, and his recurrent nightmares sure testified to that. Still, the dreams had slowly faded as time passed, and he had really been certain that he was over it by now. Even though the countless hours of research hadn’t led to any clues regarding the creep’s identity at all, making retaliation impossible, he had been able to let it go. Or so he had thought. 

“How are you feeling?”

The voice came from somewhere behind him, and Sam tried to twist his head to look – but it only resulted in his muscles screaming in protest. He wished that he could see the man, because that way he could at least put a face on his assailant. It would be nice to know what it would look like once he got the chance to plant his fist in said face. Even if it was only a dream.

“A little sleepy still?” the voice asked, and Sam heard the linoleum floor creaking a little. Squinting he stared at the blue curtains, trying to will himself to just wake up. But it seemed that he couldn’t. Probably because he couldn’t focus properly with his head feeling this fuzzy, he thought. He realized that the bright light wasn’t actually daylight as he had first thought – no, it was simply some LED spots in the kitchen ceiling which shone down a white and unpleasant light at him, hurting his eyes. The semi-sheer curtains in the window hid the darkness outside in what was probably a garden. 

Sam let out a low groan, curling his toes in his shoes – he had heard once that this trick can actually wake you up from a bad dream – but as soon as he tried to move, he realized that he was restrained. His ankles were tied to the legs of the chair and his arms behind its back rest. Just like three months ago. Again he curled and wiggled his toes, but he stayed in the kitchen despite his efforts to wake himself up.

“It’s okay,” the voice said, and suddenly Sam felt a hand place itself on his shoulder. Even though the touch was soft, he wanted to jump right out of his skin. Man, this dream was vivid.

“Don’t touch me,” Sam said, automatically trying to flinch away a little.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the voice responded, a slight breeze from the man’s breath fanning over the top of Sam’s head. And the fingers placed on his shoulders started to rub against the tense muscle there, moving in small circles and adding just a tiny bit of pressure. If this hadn’t been so creepy, then the massage would have actually felt pretty good. 

“Then what??” Sam said, trying to awkwardly twist away from the touch and not succeeding.

“You’re just gonna cut my hair off?” he huffed, testing the ropes binding his wrists. Whoever this weirdo was, he knew how to make knots, that was for sure. No matter where Sam’s fingers searched, they didn’t find a single weak spot or loose knot that they could undo, no slack rope to exploit or wiggle through in any way.

“O-Only what you can spare... I promise that you won’t be able to tell,” the man said, sounding almost like he suddenly felt a little guilty. Sam let out another huff, tugging at the ropes even though he knew that it was completely pointless.

“Right! Great! Just do it then and fucking untie me!” he spat, making the chair wobble slightly when he tried to kick out his legs, testing the ropes binding his ankles. But they were equally tight and just as expertly done as the ones around his wrists.

“Easy now. I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” the man said, a hint of something authorial creeping into his voice. Sam couldn’t help but let out a humorless laugh at that, again craning and twisting his neck to hopefully catch a glimpse of the man standing somewhere behind him. But he couldn’t see him, not even the tip of a sleeve or anything that could help identify this creep. Letting out a frustrated grunt he slumped in the chair a little, realizing how much his head was now thumping from the exertion. 

“You already have my hair in your collection anyway… Why do you want more?” he said tiredly, trying to engage the man in some sort of conversation. Maybe he could get some information that way or just stall him long enough to somehow get out of these damn restraints. Or maybe just wake the hell up. The linoleum squeaked lightly as the man moved a little, but his hands were still rubbing Sam’s tense shoulders in soothing circles that made the hairs in the back of his neck stand up.

“Well, I… It’s not like that. I would never take more than I need. But you are correct – I do have your beautiful hair in my collection. It’s the very centerpiece of it to be exact. But unfortunately I am missing some specimens, and I just couldn’t leave my collection incomplete,” the stranger said, and Sam felt the tips of his fingers finally lift from his shoulders, ending the unwanted yet strangely soothing massage.

“What do you mean?” he asked, brows furrowing. There was a hint of a chuckle behind him, and Sam felt the man retreating a little, the sound of squeaky linoleum giving away his location on the floor. He could hear him rummage about for something, a drawer opening and closing and the sound of metal lightly rattling. He was probably getting the scissors, Sam thought to himself and swallowed. At least he hoped that was the source of the sound - and not a knife. Several long seconds passed, and the man behind him began to hum an indistinguishable melody, so low that it was almost inaudible. It almost sounded like some sort of nursery rhyme, and a chill rolled down Sam’s spine.

“Sit still now,” the man said, and the squeaking of linoleum let Sam know that he was stepping back up behind the chair. A hand then placed itself on top of his head, and Sam instinctively tried to twist away – but he couldn’t do much in his restrained position, and once again he failed to catch a glimpse of the man even though he craned his neck as much as he could.

“No, stop! What are you doing?” he hissed, a ball of fear starting to form somewhere in his gut.

“Ssh, it’s okay. I’m just gonna put this on you…” the man said, and in the same second something soft and dark was slipped over Sam’s eyes. _'A blindfold,'_ his mind informed him feverishly, and he wanted to thrash in the chair. But the man’s hands worked quickly and efficiently, tightening the fabric and tying it in a knot behind Sam’s head before he even had a chance to react.

“There we go,” the stranger said, and Sam could hear him move about again. With his heart thumping almost painfully in his chest, he couldn’t help but wonder what the hell this creep was up to - and being deprived of his sight didn’t help the growing panic trying to override his already overworked mind. Taking some deep breaths he tried to steady himself, to ground himself somehow. Panicking never helped anyone.

“What are you doing??” he heard his own voice ask when the linoleum revealed that his captor was now circling him. Carefully Sam tried to open his eyes, hoping that maybe the fabric was just a little see-through or had some gaps in it that he could peek through. But he quickly found that the blindfold was way too tight for that, and he would simply hurt his eyes immensely if he tried to force them open. He couldn’t see a damn thing, and there was nothing he could do right now to change that fact.

“I understand your discomfort, Sam. And I do apologize. But I’m afraid it’s necessary,” the man said. The sound of his voice was suddenly way too close for comfort, puffs of air from his breath hitting Sam’s face. He had to be standing right in front of him.

“I just… I can’t compromise myself. Do you understand?” he said, voice soft and sounding close to caring. Sam couldn’t help but let out an angry huff at that, hands clenching into fists only to unclench and turn into fists once again.

“I understand that you’re in serious need of some counseling…!” he said under his breath, testing the ropes once again.

“Now, now. No need to get rude. We were just having a nice conversation, weren’t we? Let’s keep it civil,” the man said, and that slight tone of something authorial was creeping back into his voice. The sound of it alone should probably make Sam think twice and make him fall silent, but right now his frustration and anger was far greater than the thought of being sensible or cautious.

“Civil?!” he spat, yanking at the ropes.

“You’ve abducted me! What’s civil about _that_!? Really, do tell!? I’m listening!” he yelled, twisting and squirming in the chair in a futile attempt to somehow slip out of the ropes. But suddenly a set of hands grabbed a hold of the collar of his flannel shirt, tugging on it just a little. Instantly Sam stilled, ceasing his thrashing, when he was pulled forwards just a tiny bit, surprised by the unexpected, physical contact.

“I don’t like that attitude, Sam. I suggest you pack it in and make the best of the situation instead,” the man said, and this time his voice was sounding a little flat, maybe even a little impatient. But it was still strangely calm. His breath was fanning across Sam’s face, and there was no doubt that he was only inches away. For a moment the thought of headbutting him crossed Sam’s mind, but he thought better of it – after all, what good was _that_ gonna do when he couldn’t get out of this damn chair? 

“Just let me go,” he said, trying to will himself to calm down. To take some deep breaths and think about this. Maybe he should just play along? Maybe if he could gain some of this guy’s trust, he would let down his guard enough for Sam to exploit it.

“Not until I can complete my collection,” the voice in front of his face muttered, and the tug on Sam’s collar eased as he was gently pushed back in the seat a little. The man’s fingers then moved, fingertips starting to undo the top button on the hunter's flannel shirt.

“W-What are you doing?” Sam stammered, insecurity slipping into his voice when the fingertips started undoing the second button, lightly grazing his skin now and again. The man in front of him merely sighed, sounding kind of like an annoyed parent whose child is being unreasonable.

“I already told you,” the voice said sternly. The fingers were now undoing the third button and without hesitation or preamble they continued to undo the fourth, the movements just as swift and efficient as when he had put the blindfold on. Uneasy Sam couldn’t help but jump in his seat a little when the top of his shirt was opened, the stranger’s hands pushing its sides apart to reveal his upper chest.

“Mm, not what I expected…” the man mumbled. Was that disappointment in his voice? Frowning behind the blindfold Sam froze when the fingertips suddenly placed themselves on his collarbone, trailing their pads down his chest and almost brushing against a nipple. The touch was close to feather light, yet still it had a weird, sensual feeling to it, and chills instantly rolled down Sam’s spine, making goose bumps rise on his exposed skin. 

“Hey…!? What’re you doing, don’t fucking touch me!” he blurted out, trying to back away from the curious hands – but of course he wasn’t able to move much more than an inch.

“Language!” the man scolded, and his fingers finally retracted. Sam wanted to let out a breath that he didn’t know he had been holding, relief instantly washing over him. But before he could do so the fingertips returned to his shirt just as fast as they had left, quickly undoing the last few buttons on it.

“I honestly had expected more hair growth on your chest… But I guess my luck has its limits,” the stranger said and started to spread out the sides of the flannel shirt, revealing Sam’s long torso completely and letting the chilly breeze from the air condition ghost over his tanned skin.

“Oh…!” the man suddenly said, and Sam could feel him still holding on to the sides of his shirt, pulling them as far out to the sides as they could go. Silence fell in the kitchen, and for a moment Sam was unsure if the man was holding his breath just like he was. All he could hear right now was the hammering of his own pulse in his ears, and he started to reconsider if he should maybe try to force his eyes open anyway and disregard the physical consequences. Because being robbed of his sight was only adding to the ball of fear forming in his stomach, and it was driving him mad being kept in the dark like this. Literally. 

“It might be sparse up there, but… This looks promising,” the voice then said, breaking the silence at last. And suddenly a hand was placed on Sam’s abdomen, splaying out its fingers right below the navel. Snapping for air from the unwelcome touch Sam jumped the little he was capable of in his restrained position on the chair.

“No...! Just stop! Stop touching me!” he hissed, trying to no avail to shy away from the touch. But the chair didn’t budge and neither did the ropes. And the man’s breath was still sweeping across his face, leaving him to cringe while the pads of the fingers were softly brushing against the line of hair on his lower belly, slowly travelling further south.

“It really is a treasure trail… Isn’t it?” the stranger asked, fingertips now sliding further down into the thickening hair growth and stopping just above the lining of Sam’s jeans.

“I wonder where it leads…” the man said under his breath, and in the same moment he started to work on the button on the jeans. Instantly Sam sucked in a sharp breath of air through his teeth, and he started to thrash in the chair, attempting to dislodge the hand before it might actually get his jeans open.

“You’re sick! Get your fucking hands off me!” he spat, squirming helplessly while tugging and yanking at the ropes again, making their fibers dig painfully into his skin.

“I thought we agreed on you watching your language!?” the man said, this time a little louder. He was clearly discontent.

“Fuck you!” Sam heard himself yell, voice full of spite and something else that he could only identify as fear mixed with disgust. But almost as soon as the words had left his lips, a strong hand grabbed a hold of his neck, putting pressure on his throat. The threat was clear, and Sam stilled once more as the instinct of self-preservation overrode his urge to keep thrashing and shouting profanities.

“Now, you listen to me and you listen good, Sam. I will not tolerate that sort of language. Do you understand me?” the man asked, tightening his grip ever so slightly. Feeling how his windpipe was squeezed halfway shut, all Sam could muster was a small and hesitant nod.

“Good. I expect you to follow my rules while under this roof, and if you curse again there will be consequences. Now sit still,” he continued, and finally he loosened his grip a little, allowing Sam to take a big breath of air, wheezing slightly. It felt like his throat was coated with sandpaper all of a sudden, and he couldn’t tell if he was covered in cold sweat or just regular sweat, because he felt uncomfortably warm but strangely cold at the same time. Shivering a little he swallowed thickly, trying to collect his thoughts and think straight.

‘Pop’ – the sound confused Sam at first and he couldn’t quite place it. But a millisecond later he realized that the stranger’s free hand had just opened the button on his jeans, taking advantage of the fact that for once he was sitting completely still. His other hand was still wrapped around Sam’s throat, discouraging any attempt to fight back. 

“Don’t—“ Sam croaked, but the stranger immediately hushed him. And then a metallic ‘ziiip’ pierced the tense silence, sending a ripple of icy chills through the young hunter. Because the sound was unmistakable, and there was no doubt in his mind that his zipper had just been pulled down.


	2. Chapter 2

The goose bumps already formed on Sam’s arms and upper chest instantly spread, rising everywhere on his skin when the man slowly opened his fly, exposing the hair growth poking up over the waistband of his underwear. The silence in the kitchen was tense, but Sam was certain that he could actually hear the stranger’s breathing grow just a little bit faster. Or maybe he just imagined it. He couldn’t tell.

“It’s… beautiful,” the man said, and finally his grip on Sam’s neck loosened and disappeared, letting him suck in a shaky breath. In the same moment fingers began to gently card through the hair on his pubic bone, slipping just below the waistband of his open jeans.

“It’s like it’s soft but coarse all at the same time. Fascinating,” the man said under his breath. He sounded almost awestruck, Sam thought to himself, and the ball of fear in his stomach grew a little bigger.

“Get… Your hands... Off me…!” he hissed, and he yanked at the ropes around his wrists, testing them once again, but of course the result was the same. He couldn’t slip free. Instead he was stuck in this damn chair, hands helplessly closing into milky white fists over and over again as the stranger’s fingers slowly grew more curious and slipped further into his underwear, following the trail of hair. The pads of the digits were surprisingly soft and their gentle touch had Sam cringing, trying to press his legs together – but his knees were spread and held down with no room to move more than an inch or two.

“It’s simply glorious, Sam. And there’s so much! It would be a waste not to have a little look…” the man whispered, and Sam could feel the fingers hooking themselves over the elastic waistband of his trunks and starting to pull at them.

“What?! No! Don’t touch me!!” Sam snarled, bucking in the chair when the stranger kept pulling at the waistband, seemingly completely indifferent to his protests. And all too quickly the elastic material was unceremoniously tugged down, bunched under Sam’s balls and exposing his privates to the cool kitchen air and ultimately to the stranger’s curious glance.

“Wh-What the hell is the matter with you?!” Sam gasped, stilling in his seat when a hand started to carefully brush its fingers through his pubic hair. For a moment he was too shocked to keep up his attempts at freeing himself from the ropes – instead he just sat there, frozen in bafflement. 

“Do you shampoo and condition this part of your hair?” the stranger asked, ignoring the question. His breath was fanning just a bit faster across Sam’s skin now, and there was no doubt in the young Winchester’s mind that the man had moved considerably closer to his naked groin. He shuddered. Whoever this creep was, he sure was invested in this bizarre hobby of his, Sam thought, and he swallowed thickly.

“Do you, Sam?” the man said, his fingertips moving in small circles through the hunter’s pubic hair and inducing a chill that ran all the way from the top of his head to the soles of his feet and back again.

“Just stop! Stop it!” Sam said, but it came out almost in a whisper even though he had really wanted to shout out the words loud enough to hopefully wake up some neighbors.

“Why? You’re too beautiful to resist. And I think you know that,” the man said softly, suddenly letting his gentle fingers ghost across the tip of Sam’s dick, making him jerk in the chair. Instantly Sam sucked in a sharp breath of air through gritted teeth.

“Touch me again and I swear I’ll kill you!” he spat, his voice coming out much louder than before and almost bouncing off the kitchen walls. And he meant every word. Shaking with anger and way too many feelings for him to even begin to place, Sam clenched the muscles in his jaw, trying to piece together what the hell was going on and how to get out of it. And apparently the man in front of him took notice of the threat, because suddenly his hands lifted and disappeared, linoleum creaking when he got up from had to be a kneeling position. Sam wanted to almost sag in the chair from relief when the exploring fingers left his body, the man’s feet scuffling across the floor as he let out a sigh.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” he said, and he almost sounded a little sad. The maniac actually sounded like Sam had just hurt his feelings. Holding back a huff the young hunter was about to tell him just  _ how _ sorry he was going to be once he got his hands on him, but before he got the chance there was a metallic sound that he couldn’t quite place. But it was the sound of something sharp - that much he knew. Instantly he tensed even more, his body going rigid in the chair as the stranger now moved around somewhere behind him.

“It’s too bad, really. But it only tells me that  _ this  _ is indeed necessary,” the man said, tapping the fabric of the blindfold suggestively and tugging ever so slightly on the knot tying it tightly behind his victim's head. If he had been able to Sam would have jumped right out of his seat from the unexpected touch, his pulse instantly sky-rocketing. Then he heard the man begin to move towards his front again. 

“But I really am sorry, Sam,” he said. Was that genuine remorse in his voice? Whatever it was, Sam didn’t care. Right now all of his focus was on finding out what sort of metallic object had given off the sound he had just heard - and he really hoped that it wouldn’t be revealed by a sudden flash of pain. A dozen chopped up bits and pieces of frantic thoughts about getting stabbed whirled through his mind, and he suddenly couldn’t remember how to breathe properly when he felt the man kneeling down in front of him again. 

“I really wish it didn’t have to be this way,” the man said, sounding close to defeated.  _ 'What way?' _ Sam's mind asked frantically. What was he about to do? Then a hand was suddenly placed on his thigh and Sam jolted in his seat. So, was this how he was going to die? Tied up in some pervert’s kitchen? Shivering he found himself shaking his head.

“Wait, wait…! Y-You don’t have to—“

“Sssh, it’ll only take a second. You won’t feel a thing,” the stranger said, cutting him off mid-sentence. Even though his eyes were already closed behind the blindfold, Sam instinctively squeezed them shut as if they weren’t already, scrunching up his face as he waited for the pain. And then came that metallic sound again, and he tensed, holding his breath.

“There we go. Wasn’t so bad, was it?”

For a moment all Sam could hear was the roaring of his own pulse, and he wasn’t sure if he had just imagined the guy’s voice. But as he kept waiting and the seconds kept ticking by, he realized that the pain didn’t come. Confused he frowned behind the blindfold, trying to make sense of it all.

“Luscious. It’s truly a fine specimen. Thank you,” the voice said, and this time Sam was certain that he wasn’t hallucinating. The hand on his thigh squeezed him a little, and with a small jerk Sam sucked in the breath he knew all too well that he had been holding, letting much needed oxygen flow into his lungs and kick his mind back into gear. Shuddering a little, he finally realized that the man had been talking about the scissors and the stupid hair sample. Not about killing him. Not that he had let him know that by his choice of words though. Speechless Sam swallowed a lump that had suddenly formed in his throat, and he realized that his mouth felt as dry as the Sahara desert.

“I can’t tell you how happy this makes me, Sam,” the man said, almost whispered, and a sniffing sound filled the room. The hand was still on Sam’s thigh, and he cringed a little when it dawned on him that the guy was apparently smelling the sample of his pubic hair right now. Then there was a sound of a long and shaky exhale, and the hand finally lifted from his thigh as the man moved again. Still speechless Sam just sat there, trying to wrap his head around this. This was simply too surreal to be true. It had to be a dream. It probably was. 

“I just have to bag this… Proper preservation is crucial after all,” the man’s voice said. It sounded a little wheezy almost, like the stranger was either really excited or simply out of breath. Sam heard the slight crackling of plastic and feet moving across the linoleum, and he wondered what would happen next. Now that the man had taken the sample, would he hit him over the head again like last time? Swallowing Sam licked his dry bottom lip, trying to stay as calm and collected as he could.

“So what now?” he heard himself ask, and he instantly wanted to slap himself across the face for letting his thoughts pour out like this. Apparently his mind didn’t bother to at least filter them a bit first. Nor did it make an effort to keep the tremble out of his voice. The linoleum squeaked as the man moved around him, and Sam sensed how he got back down on his knees in front of him. Automatically he tensed up a little when the man’s breath fanned across his abdomen and exposed pubic bone, and he had to will himself to not just yell at his captor to cover him back up. It was strange and beyond uncomfortable sitting here like this, robbed of his sight and basically naked.

“Don’t worry, I’ll let you go soon. I just… I just gotta…” the man’s voice whispered, and once more Sam felt fingers make contact with his skin, carding through the hair just above his dick. He automatically flinched a little, making the chair wobble under his weight.

“Look, you got what you wanted. Just let me go,” he said, trying not to let his voice shake too much this time. Even if being set free meant a blow to the head, he would choose that in the blink of an eye - rather than having this creepy guy continue to touch him like this. But either the man hadn’t heard him or he chose not to answer, because silence fell in the kitchen as the fingers kept moving through his hair like some sort of makeshift brush. Seconds ticked by, and Sam shifted as much as he was able to in the seat.

“I just…“ the man said, but trailed off into something that sounded almost like a low moan. Swallowing Sam frowned behind the blindfold – what on earth was going on? In the same second he felt the fingers move to his dick, suddenly wrapping themselves around it and lifting up the soft appendage a little. A small yelp instantly escaped Sam, and he squirmed in the chair.

“Stop! W-What the hell are you doi—”

“Sssh,” the man shushed, and Sam could feel his breath sweeping across his skin in hot and moist gusts of air – it felt like his face were only inches away from his naked groin, and the thought of it sent a spike of fear and repulsion through him.

“I just… I’m sorry, Sam, but I just need to… I need…” the stranger whispered, but once again he trailed off, apparently unable to finish the sentence. The man’s fingers then tugged gently at his soft dick, and Sam began to thrash in the chair.

“Let go of me!!” he hissed, pulling at the ropes binding his wrists hard enough to make the rough fibers bite into his skin, rubbing it bloody.

“Easy now. Please, just calm down. You’ll hurt yourself,” the man said under his breath, and his other hand clasped on to Sam’s thigh to steady him as the chair wobbled dangerously.

Letting out a hoarse grunt of anger, Sam ignored him. He kept thrashing and pulling at the ropes, hoping that the chair would fall apart at some point. Maybe he could make it tip over and hopefully some of the wood would give, giving him an opportunity to break free. And most importantly, maybe if he fought hard enough, the man would let go of his dick. 

“Sam!” the man said, raising his voice. But his hands didn’t move – one was still clasped onto his thigh while the other was wrapped around his dick, now giving it an experimental stroke. The unwanted touch and unexpected friction ripped a hiss from Sam’s throat, and he yanked harder at the ropes – by now he had unintentionally tightened them so hard around his wrists that the blood circulation had been cut off. His fingers felt numb and tingly, but that didn’t stop them from frantically searching for a weakness in the knots even though he knew that there was none. The man’s grip on his thigh tightened. 

“Listen to me!” the stranger said, voice loud and firm.

“If you don’t sit still I will have to make you,“ he threatened, but still there was this strange and almost compassionate tone to his voice that made Sam’s skin crawl even more than it already was.

“Don’t touch me! Let me go, you god damn pervert!” Sam shouted, twisting and turning violently in the chair. He barely had the time to register that the hand on his thigh lifted before a stinging pain suddenly erupted on his cheek and his head was whipped to the side. The man had hit him, he realized dizzily, his ears ringing.

“Don’t… Don’t call me that,” the stranger said under his breath, and he sounded genuinely hurt. Sam realized that he had stilled in the chair a little, too shocked by the sudden blow to keep up his struggling. But the hand was still wrapped around his dick, and he snapped for air when bile threatened to climb up his throat.

“I’m sorry… I lost my temper. I shouldn’t have hit you. I just… I really dislike that term,” the man said, and once again Sam felt hot breath hitting his groin area. Trying to somehow push himself away from the breath that felt like it was coming closer by the second Sam squirmed, his bound feet trying to kick the chair backwards by pushing at the linoleum. But it didn’t help him one bit.

“But I have to know, Sam. I-I can’t have you here and not…” the stranger continued, trailing off and his voice sounding a little shaky. Sam shook his head in confusion, frustration washing through him.

“What are you talking abou— aahhh!“ Sam began, but he was cut off when something warm and wet suddenly licked into the hair around the base of his dick. Cringing he tried to twist his body and move in the opposite direction of the tongue lapping at him, but he only managed to squirm awkwardly in the chair.

“What the hell are you doing?!!” he gasped, and every small hair in the back of his neck stood up when the man started to hum, nuzzling what felt like his entire face into his groin.

“I’m tasting you. God, I’ve wanted this for so long…” the stranger said in between licks, puffs of his breath turning the skin underneath damp and hot. The hand around Sam’s dick tightened its grip just a tiny bit, and the young hunter wanted to scream all kinds of profanities at him - but before he could a pair of lips were suddenly wrapped around him. Sucking in a sharp breath of air Sam felt himself nearly managing to knock over the chair when his entire body jerked in the seat.

“Mmm,” the man hummed, and Sam could feel his tongue circling the head of his cock, lapping gently at it and treating it like it was a melting ice cream. Heaving for air his mind was spinning too fast for Sam to hold on to any coherent thoughts at all even though he tried his very best to stay grounded and just  _ think _ . He knew that he needed to focus, needed to stay calm in order to get out of this. But instead it felt like he was headed towards something close to full blown panic, heart hammering like crazy in his chest and his breath stuttering and hitching.

“S-Stop…!!” he finally managed to burst out, but it sounded more like a breathless gasp than the booming demand he had wanted it to be. The man took no notice of it either. Instead he kept moving his tongue, now trailing it up and down Sam’s flaccid dick, lightly kneading and fondling his balls as he went.

“You taste so… Sweet….” The man moaned in between his licking and sucking, only pulling off for a split second at a time to let Sam know what was on his mind.

“God, Sam…” the man said in a throaty voice before sucking him down as far as he could take him. A yelp instantly escaped Sam at the sensation, and he bucked and twisted, tearing at the ropes frantically when finally the shock seemed to subside enough for his mind to come somewhat back online, allowing his body to resume its struggling.

“Get off! Get off me! I’m gonna kill you!!” he growled, thrashing violently in the chair. The hand on his thigh dug its fingers into the muscle there, gripping him tight in a futile attempt to keep him still. The man licked up the underside of his dick, his tongue paying a lot of attention to the slit once it reached the tip, making Sam let out a strangled gasp. At the same time the stranger kept humming some undistinguishable melody, only interrupted by the slurping sounds his mouth was making. 

“No, you’re not… Just… Just, please, let me—”

“No! Get away from me, you sick fuck!” Sam snarled. As soon as the words left his lips the mouth around him retreated with a wet ‘pop’, and Sam exhaled shakily. The sound of linoleum quirking then filled the room along with ragged breathing, and Sam could feel his heart rhythm pick up speed. Nervously he kept yanking at the rope while trying to pinpoint the man’s location in the kitchen, relying on his ears alone. It wasn’t easy with his pulse hammering away like this though, because it drowned out pretty much everything else – and his breath hitched when he realized that he didn’t know where the man was.

“I warned you,” the stranger's voice suddenly said, coming from somewhere to his right. Instantly Sam turned his head in that direction, listening carefully to the footsteps now approaching.

“I warned you about using that foul language,” the man continued, and there was the telltale sound of feet moving across linoleum. Automatically Sam tensed up.

“But you don’t listen. Do you, Sam?” he asked, and suddenly a hand was placed on his shoulder only to run across his back and down his upper arm. The fingers kept travelling down his arm and over his rolled up sleeve. Unable to stop himself from shivering, Sam swallowed thickly, nostrils flaring. 

“Fuck you! What are you gonna go to me?!” he spat, barely able to keep his voice from cracking – and he couldn’t tell if it was from fear or fury. All he knew right now was that he wanted to rip this guy’s larynx right out of his throat with his bare hands. Shaking with contempt and anger he felt the hand run down his bare forearm and close around it, applying pressure as if he was being given some sort of silent warning. And he thought he heard the guy’s breathing speed up. Sam’s stomach churned. 

“I'll do what I need to,” the man then said flatly, his fingers tightening their grip hard enough to bruise.

“You don’t  _ need _ to do anything, you god damn creep! Just let me g—oww!” Sam burst out when a sharp pain suddenly flared up on his inside of his elbow. At first his mind fumbled and raced to figure out what the source of the pain was, because the smarting area was tiny – it almost felt like the man was pinching him. Then it dawned on him, hitting him like a bucket of ice cold water.

“N-No! No, no, what’re you doing, what’re you—“

“Sssh, easy, big guy. Just relax,” the man soothed, and before Sam could start thrashing again, the pain disappeared just as quickly as it had come, and he felt something soft being pressed against the area. Pure dread washed through him, and he could feel and hear himself snapping for air, starting to hyperventilate.

“W-What did you-what did you give me??!” he asked, voice turning slightly high-pitched as panic started to overpower him. With his mind swirling in a frenzied scramble to figure out what the guy had just injected him with, his thoughts flicked from one horrific possibility to the next. Maybe it was some sort of poison? What if this was the end? How was it going feel like? Would it be painful? Would he choke to death and froth at the mouth like some rabid dog? Or maybe his heart would simply give out?

“Just something to help you calm down a little, don’t worry,” the man said, rubbing his free hand in what was supposed to be soothing circles on Sam’s shoulder. But there was absolutely nothing soothing about it.

“Why?? What are you gonna-why are you doing this?!” Sam stuttered, and he thought he could feel the room starting to spin around in circles. But maybe it was just because he was hyperventilating, he thought to himself in a panicked attempt to stay collected.

“Ssh, calm down. I’m not going to hurt you. This is for your own safety as well as mine,” the stranger said, removing what was being pressed against the inside of Sam’s elbow to stop the blood and then patting the skin lightly with what had to be a cotton swab.

“You’re insane!” Sam burst out, trying to stop his pulse from racing so fast. He knew that whatever drug he had been given it would work faster the more he panicked. Still, he couldn’t seem to calm down in the slightest. Instead his heart was banging frantically against his sternum, and he was snapping for air far too rapidly, sucking down huge gulps of air that would only aid the drug in working its way through his system that much faster.

“I know you’re upset. But don’t forget your manners,” the man scolded, still rubbing Sam’s tense shoulder in repetitive circles, working tirelessly in an attempt to loosen the hard muscle beneath the open flannel shirt.

“My manners…?!” Sam spat, almost bursting into a desperate and humorless laugh.

“You just drugged me and you’re talking about manners?! Go to hell!” he spat – but he instantly frowned behind the blindfold when he realized that he was slurring. When did that happen? He hadn’t even noticed, but he suddenly realized that he was actually starting to sag in the seat a little as well. And the room was still spinning – only faster than before.

“Oh, Sam… I am going to let that one slip. You’re clearly not thinking straight,” the man behind him said softly, squeezing his shoulder a little. Automatically Sam wanted to flinch away from the touch, but the intended movement didn’t really translate properly as it travelled from his mind to his body – instead of jerking away he just seemed to sag even more in the chair, muscles feeling increasingly sluggish.

“Why’re you doing this…?” Sam heard himself slur, noticing how his head was beginning to feel too heavy for his neck to be able to hold it up properly. Even though he strained, it felt like the muscles in the back of his neck were just giving in and going strangely lax, his head drooping lower and lower down towards his chest.

“I told you. I can’t have you here and not… Not make the most of it. And you’re here, Sam. You’re here and I can’t deny myself this. I just can’t,” the stranger said under his breath.

“What…?” Sam asked, mind spinning both with confusion, fear and a strange feeling of fatigue that hadn’t been there moments ago. He couldn’t understand what the man behind him was rambling about. None of this made sense, and the words coming out of his mouth just seemed like complete gibberish to him.

“I have to know… I need to,” the man said, and Sam felt fingertips travel down his underarms, sliding across his skin in playful patterns and circles, exploring and seemingly mapping out every detail on the way.

“Know…? Know what?” Sam mumbled in confusion, head now lolling against his chest. He realized that the muscles and tendons in the back of his neck should probably be protesting against the pull, but for some reason they weren’t. Instead they felt as elastic and pliant as he felt lax and heavy. It was like every muscle in his body had turned into useless jelly.

The man didn’t answer him, and tense silence fell in the kitchen only interrupted by squeaks of linoleum and heavy breathing. Seconds ticked by while Sam tried to gather his thoughts, tried to get his mind as well as his body to cooperate, but it seemed to be a losing battle at the moment. His already questionable concentration was broken completely when suddenly he could feel the man’s fingertips play with the rope tying his wrists together behind the backrest of the chair, occasionally brushing against his skin in a gentle fashion that made goosebumps rise on his skin. Dizzy and feeling a little queasy, Sam tried to formulate some sort of protest – but whatever he was going to say seemed to get lost somewhere on its way out, and he forgot what words he had picked before they could leave his lips. Instead he just ended up uttering a small grunt, devoid of any meaning.

“I think you’re ready,” the man said. Again Sam frowned behind the blindfold. What the hell was he on about?

“For what?” he rasped, only now noticing how his tongue seemed to be sticking to the roof of his mouth, dry and parched. A small huff escaped the stranger behind him – and Sam didn’t understand what it meant. He couldn’t even tell if the guy was amused, offended or just impatient. But his hazed mind quickly abandoned figuring it out when he felt fingers beginning to undo the knots tying his wrists together. A new kick of adrenaline instantly rushed through him. Could it be? Was the man really going to untie him?

“I think you know,” the stranger merely stated, deft fingers quickly loosening one knot after the other. Nervously Sam licked his dry bottom lip, not really listening to or even understanding the comment – instead he focused on mentally preparing himself. The second his hands were free he was going to lash out. He was going to knock the guy out and get the remaining rope off his ankles – and then he was going to get the hell out of this place. He would probably only get this one chance, and he had to do it right. He couldn’t afford to slip up now. 

“I didn’t even realize how much I have been craving this… Not until now,” the man said lowly, his breath hitting Sam’s nape and making strands of his chestnut hair lightly sway in its breeze.

“But it all starts to make sense,” he continued, undoing the last knot securing Sam’s wrists to each other and the chair while humming that undistinguishable melody again. Chills rolled down Sam’s spine by the sound of it, but he didn’t have the time or energy to focus on that right now. He had bigger concerns. Being robbed of his sight meant that he had no idea if there were any weapons nearby. Hell, the guy could have a knife right next to him for all he knew. Another reason why he had to act quickly. With that in mind he tried to keep as calm as he could and come across as docile, and he let himself sag just a bit more in the chair.

“As soon as I tasted you I knew,” the man said under his breath – and in the same second Sam felt the rough rope leave his skin as it fell to the ground. His wrists were free. This was it. This was his chance.

“I knew I needed mor—“ the man said, but he was interrupted when Sam propelled himself into action, twisting his body in the chair to hopefully be able to land a punch. It was a shot in the dark – literally – but he had no other choice. He really didn’t. But as he turned in the chair, he realized that he wasn’t moving half as swiftly as he thought he would. Instead it was happening in something close to slow motion when his torso twisted towards the sound of the man’s voice – and when he wanted to raise his fist into the air, it just became a lazy twitch of his hand. What was going on? Not understanding his body’s sudden inability to move normally, Sam let out a gasp when he felt himself starting to tilt. His hands were still just uselessly dangling as he felt the room spinning more violently than before, and he knew that he was about to fall to the floor, taking the chair with him.

“Hey, hey!” the stranger’s voice yelled, and Sam no longer had any idea what was up and what was down. All he knew was that even the blackness behind the blindfold was doing endless barrel rolls, leaving him feeling nauseous and completely disoriented. And he knew that he had blown it. His chance had finally come, but it had gone away just as quickly – it had somehow slipped right between his fingers. In desperation he tried to force his arms to move, to lift, to tense up, to lash out – anything, really – but a set of hands closed their fingers around his wrists, clamping down on them like vices.

“Sit still! Don’t act up now,” the stranger’s voice said, piercing Sam’s ears like a thunder roll. And warily he realized that he was being easily tilted right back into the chair, breaking the fall. Returning him to status quo. His heart sank. How had he not known that he was in absolutely no condition to fight? He had been so certain that all it would take was a quick, right hook and that he would have been able to just make a run for it. But instead here he was, sagging like a bag of potatoes in the chair, with a pair of arms that were about as useful as a chocolate teapot. In fact his entire body was useless, every single muscle fiber feeling gooey and sluggish. None of them seemed to be willing to obey any of the orders his mind was sending them, that was for sure.

“Let go of me!” he heard himself slur, and he realized that the words almost swallowed each other, close to turning into one, jumbled up sound that didn’t make a lick of sense. But the man’s grip only tightened.

“No. Don’t be silly now,” the man said.

“Let me just help you—“

“No!” Sam yelled, managing to tilt himself forwards enough for the man to almost lose his grip on his wrists when his arms automatically followed him down, aided by gravity as he started to fall. 

Fumbling to regain his grip on the young Winchester, the man was quick to follow him, grabbing a hold of Sam’s elbows a split second before he would have collided face first with the chequered kitchen floor. The chair screeched against the linoleum as it tipped over, the ropes around Sam’s ankles pulling it with him. Now the hunter found himself with his cheek resting against the floor, the man guiding his limp body down along with the chair, while muttering under his breath angrily. 

“Damn it, Sam! Stop misbehaving!” he grumbled, picking up Sam’s arms from where they had landed on the linoleum and wringing them up behind his back. Little effort was needed, because Sam felt about as limp as a ragdoll at this point – all he could muster was a choked yelp when he felt his wrists being bound together once again, rope circling them and tightening around them all too fast.

“Fuck you!” he hissed, trying to squirm enough to make the man lose his grip – but with his muscles nearly paralyzed it was a losing battle.

‘_SMACK_!’

The loud sound bounced off the kitchen walls, and Sam jumped the little his body was capable of when a stinging pain flared up on his backside. Letting out a small gasp he stilled, his hazed mind racing to comprehend what just happened.

“Language!!” the man snarled, and Sam could feel him tying the last knot on the rope securing his wrists firmly behind his back. It felt like the stranger’s weight was crushing him, like his lungs had trouble expanding far enough to let in the amount of oxygen needed. 

“How many times do I need to tell you!?” the man scolded, letting out a discontent sigh. And Sam finally realized that the man had actually slapped him in the rear. Like he was some sort of petulant child.

“I won’t stand for it,” the stranger added. With a knee planted on each side of Sam’s thighs he finally pulled back a little, lifting his upper body off of the hunter's back. Instantly Sam sucked in a breath of air, mind swirling and backside burning. Even through his jeans the slap had been hard enough to probably leave a red mark, because it was still stinging. He couldn’t help but let out a huff, feeling both humiliated, confused and downright furious. 

“Or what?! You’re gonna spank me??” he spat, and as soon as the words slipped out he was genuinely surprised by his own outburst. Maybe the stranger was right – he wasn’t thinking straight. No one in their right mind would mock their captor like that, especially not while being this helpless. Because right now he was completely at the mercy of this deranged kidnapper, and he honestly had no idea what his intentions were. 

“Maybe,” the stranger said, and Sam realized that he had untied his ankles attaching him to the chair. But he couldn’t kick out like he wanted to. At all. And suddenly the man leaned down again, covering Sam’s body with his own.

“I will if I have to. But first things first,” he said, breathing heavily as his hand traveled down Sam’s side only to start caressing his ass through the jeans. Instantly Sam wanted to jump, but his body didn’t follow suit – instead all he could do was lie there while the broad hand kneaded his still burning buttock through the coarse denim.

“W-What are you doi—“

“You know to answer to that,” the man said in a throaty voice, and before Sam had the time to even process the sentence, the stranger’s hands began to tug on the waistband of the jeans. It took a second or two before it finally dawned on the young Winchester - and then pure horror washed through him, making him suck in a sharp breath while goosebumps rose everywhere on his skin in a matter of milliseconds.


	3. Chapter 3

“No! No, no, y-you can’t!” Sam stuttered, feeling his head swim with a whole new kind of panic as alarm bells began to ring in his mind. The stranger’s body was as heavy and solid as stone on top of him, and he thought he could feel something hard poking lightly at his upper thigh. His breath instantly hitched, nausea rippling through him. He wasn’t sure if he was going to throw up right then and there, but the way his guts churned painfully indicated that it was indeed a possibility. Gasping for air, he instinctively tried to move away – but he couldn’t. His body wasn’t reacting properly and it seemed to refuse doing any of the things he wanted it to.

“Of course I can,” the man said under his breath, hooking his fingers through the belt loops on the jeans. The fact that Sam’s fly was already open made it all too easy for him to pull the jeans down over his ass along with his underwear, exposing the skin hiding there. As the cool air in the kitchen swept across his naked buttocks, Sam couldn’t help but let out a desperate mewl while once again attempting to squirm out from under his attacker. But he didn’t move much, muscles strangely unresponsive and his body way too heavy.

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” the man cooed, and Sam could feel how thighs were bracketing his own while hands worked to pull his clothes down further. Gasping he did his best to sabotage his captor's mission to undress him, but no matter how hard he tried to twist and turn and buck it became little more than a few weak-looking twitches.

“Don’t…!” Sam gasped when the man withdrew a little, pulling his jeans and underwear all the way off. As the weight lifted off him, Sam wanted to scramble to his feet – but he just remained sprawled on his stomach on the chequered kitchen floor, the cold linoleum biting into his skin and sending chills down his spine. Why couldn’t he move properly? Heaving for air he wiggled his hands, trying to slip them out of the rope – but it felt like all strength has left his body completely by now. Even if he actually found a way to rid himself of the ropes he probably wouldn’t be able to exploit it.

“Don’t worry, it’s going to be fine. It’s just the drug. It should be almost at full effect now,” the man said somewhere behind him. The linoleum squeaked as he moved about and disoriented Sam tried to figure out where he was in the kitchen. But apparently he couldn’t even trust his ears anymore. And at the same time dizziness and a strange feeling of confusion seemed to overpower him, making the world do a barrel roll in the darkness behind the blindfold.

“I really didn’t want to have to do that. But it’s for your own good. You know that, right?” the stranger said somewhere while he folded and placed Sam’s jeans and underwear in a neat stack on the floor. Meticulously evening out the small wrinkles in the fabric he slowly ran his fingers across it and re-arranged the stack so that it fit perfectly inside one of the chequers on the linoleum.

“I only did it to keep you safe,” he added and approached Sam once more, kneeling down next to him. As soon as Sam felt his presence he wanted to move in the opposite direction, but by now he knew that he couldn’t move as much an inch even if his life depended on it. A shudder ran through him by the thought.

“I wouldn’t hurt you, Sam…” the man whispered, and the young Winchester almost – almost – jumped when he felt fingers carding through his hair to carefully tuck some stray strands behind his ear. Feeling sweat droplets emerge somewhere near his hairline, Sam nervously licked his bottom lip.

“Then let me go,” he slurred, fingers fidgeting weakly with the knots on the rope. The man let out a sigh, and Sam could feel him moving about again. It was beyond terrifying just lying here, unable to fight back. Because even though his entire body felt paralyzed and strangely tingly, he could still feel every little touch all too well. He could feel everything. The least this man could have done was to knock him out completely. Shown him just that little bit of mercy. Feeling his eyes well up with both anger and fear, Sam tried to lift his head when he could feel the man getting down on the floor right next to him. But he quickly abandoned the plan when his neck wouldn’t comply, muscles and tendons refusing to cooperate.

“I’ll let you go soon enough, I promise,” the stranger said softly, and a set of hands grabbed a hold of Sam, starting to lift him up into a sitting position. Dizzy the hunter could feel his body simply sagging as he was pulled backwards and into the man’s lap, his head lolling against the stranger’s shoulder and chest. A hand then trailed down his belly when the captor’s attention returned to his groin area. 

"I'm sorry. It is a little cold, isn't it...?" he said apologetically while his fingers gently caressed Sam’s pelvic bone and slipped into the pubic hair just above his dick once again. A grunt escaped Sam, and he tried to protest both physically and verbally – but nothing happened. Instead he was just slumped against the man’s chest, his long legs obscenely spread out on the cold linoleum. 

"There's... So much more than I imagined. I apologize, I took you for a guy that shaves, you know," the stranger said, sounding near awestruck as his fingers ventured lower and carefully carded through the curly hair far too close to Sam’s balls. The man’s other hand was planted solidly under his chin, running the pads of his fingertips along the slight stubble on Sam’s jaw line.

"Considering _this_. But I guess this is one of those times that I'm grateful to be wrong," the man said, tapping Sam’s chin lightly. A tiny huff of frustration escaped the young Winchester, and he shuddered when the exploring fingers slowly started to move closer to his dick. He thought he felt the guy’s chest rise and fall a little faster and a little heavier against his back.

"You..." the man began, practically moaning the word.

"Y-You don't mind, right...?" he asked breathlessly. It was almost as if he honestly thought Sam had a say in this. That he would stop if he just told him to. Frustrated Sam wanted to scream, wanted to spin around and punch his captor in the face – but it just became a gasp. Even his voice seemed to be failing now.

"Of course not..." the man then said and circled his fingers through the thick curls of pubes, moving to his dick. Sam grunted, and the noise even somewhat resembled the word 'no' this time. It felt like his eyes were starting to well up, the corners of them prickling a little, and he felt his skin heating in embarrassment. But the stranger’s fingers didn't stop their fondling. Instead they kept rubbing the sensitive flesh before gently closing around Sam’s dick, giving it a soft stroke. Sam’s breath hitched in his throat as the sensation of the unwelcome touch zapped through him. And the stranger giggled. He actually giggled. Sam could feel his cheeks flush in a mix of humiliation and resentment. And the feeling only intensified when he felt how he started to swell just a little bit in the stranger's hand. Even though he very well knew that it was the drug causing the reaction, he still felt beyond disgusted with himself. And behind him the kidnapper couldn't help the proud smile that automatically spread on his face.

"You like that? Feels nice and relaxing, doesn't it?" he whispered in Sam’s ear, his breath fanning across the shell in warm puffs of air. An angry grunt escaped Sam when the fingers began to nudge the base of his thickening dick.

"Nnn....!"

The protest was tiny. Pathetic. Apparently he couldn’t get his vocal chords to formulate a single coherent word right now. Cursing internally at himself and his lack of strength, Sam wished that he could just move. He didn't even know what he should focus on more - the fact that his hands didn't even try to slip the ropes off his wrists anymore or that the stranger’s fingers were starting to move down to his testicles, cupping them.

“Oh, you haven't shaved a day in your life down here! Look at you! Perfect, little curls!" the man burst out, fingers lightly tugging at the hair. A throaty moan followed the sentence, and Sam felt the fingers start to roll his balls back and forth carefully. Playfully. Like this was all just a game – a game that Sam was actually willing to play.

“God, you’re so beautiful…” the stranger breathed against the side of Sam’s neck, burying his face in it and inhaling deeply. A hand was still firmly placed under his chin, and with ease the man tilted his head further to the side, giving him better access to the feverishly warm skin just below Sam’s ear. While his head lolled heavily against the shoulder behind it, the young Winchester felt his skin starting to crawl with what felt like a million bugs, and when the wet tip of a tongue darted out to lap at his skin the feeling intensified tenfold. A soundless gasp escaped him as an icy chill travelled through his body, seemingly hitting every nerve end on its way and leaving him to tremble.

“Mmm…” the man moaned against his skin and began to lick a long stripe up his neck and into his hair. The tongue was moving slowly and tentatively as if it was trying to pick up on every single tiny flavor Sam’s skin had to offer, mapping out every detail and exploring every millimeter thoroughly on its way. Cringing Sam wanted to protest when the wet flesh started to lick into the hair behind his ear, but not a single sound could escape him.

“Your taste is… It’s magnificent,” the man whispered and Sam could swear that he was breathing a lot faster now. He didn’t have time to ponder why though, because suddenly the fingers playing with his balls slipped below them and onto his perineum. Instantly Sam wanted to jump from the touch, but of course nothing happened. Nothing at all. He just sat there, slumped against his captor, as the fingers wandered, probing and curiously trying to move further south. Luckily Sam’s sitting position prevented them from going any further, because even though the fingers tried to wedge themselves under him and in between his ass cheeks, his sitting position simply wouldn’t allow it. A frustrated grunt escaped the stranger, and finally he pulled back a little and released the strands of hair that he had apparently sucked into his mouth at some point.

“I’m-I’m just going to help you lie down,” he then said, and suddenly his hands started to guide Sam’s limp body down towards the floor. Within a split second the ball of fear in the young hunter’s gut doubled in size when he felt how the linoleum was slowly coming closer and closer as he was lowered down towards it. What was happening?

“There we are,” the stranger said, a little out of breath. Sam couldn’t tell if it was from the physical effort of lowering him down or from something else entirely. And he didn’t want to know. A tiny gasp escaped him when his torso gently made contact with the linoleum, its smooth surface uncomfortably cold against his skin. And before he knew it he found himself lying down completely, his cheek resting against the floor as he lay sprawled on his stomach. Nervously he tried to tug on the rope trapping his hands behind his back, but it only resulted in some pitiful twitches of his fingers. Everything was swirling around in the darkness behind the blindfold, and no matter how hard he tried to focus his mind it was just one big, hazy mess. How had this even happened? For some reason he suddenly wasn’t sure if he even remembered. 

“That’s better, isn’t it?” the stranger’s voice said somewhere above him, and a set of hands were placed on his back. Quickly his open shirt was tugged down his arms, getting bunched around his bound wrists along with the rope. Even though everything was fuzzy and strangely distant, Sam could feel every single fingertip trail down towards the small of his back, could feel how smooth the pads of this man’s digits were. He was definitely not doing any type of physical work for a living, Sam thought to himself dizzily. Not with fingers and hands that soft. But before he could speculate any further, the digits reached his buttocks and started to gently knead them. Instantly Sam felt his face begin to burn, a tint of magenta no doubt spreading all the way down to his chest. A small sound escaped him, and he wanted to scramble away from the touch. He wanted to move so badly, yet he simply couldn’t. Not even an inch.

“I just need to see…” the man breathed heavily, and suddenly Sam could feel him firmly dig his fingers into his ass cheeks, spreading them apart. A yelp got stuck in the hunter’s throat when he felt the chilly air sweep over his exposed hole, and the tint of magenta on his face surely turned crimson. This was beyond humiliating. In fact it had to be the most degrading thing he had ever experienced.

“Oh…” his captor whispered, sounding like there suddenly wasn’t any air left in his lungs at all. And Sam felt pretty much the same way, his breath hitching and getting stuck in his throat when his ass cheeks were pulled further apart, skin stretched and smarting slightly as a result. 

“Perfect,” the stranger managed to rasp, and a shudder ran through Sam when he felt the man’s breath fan across his entrance. The feeling was so alien and so horrifying that he didn’t know what to do with it. His mind seemed to spin faster, and his heart was galloping in his chest like it was trying to burst right out of his ribcage.

“Easy, just relax,” the man’s voice said.

“Just breathe, Sam. I told you, I’m not going to hurt you,” he continued, and the fingers digging into Sam’s buttocks massaged the flesh a little as if to underline that statement. Not convinced in the slightest Sam was certain that the room was beginning to tilt violently, because he felt so dizzy that he wasn’t sure what was up or down. In fact he wasn’t sure of anything anymore. He couldn’t even tell if he was awake or not. How did he get here again? And what was that clicking sound?

“This might be a little cold, but don’t worry,” the voice said. Sam frowned slightly in confusion, trying to gather his fragmented thoughts into some sort of orderly pile that he could maybe make some sense of. But it didn’t seem to work – his mind just remained one big mess of jumbled up emotions and half sentences that he couldn’t finish. Drowsily he tried to lift his head a little – but that didn’t work either. Instead he just kept lying there, limp as a ragdoll, with his check pressed against the cold linoleum. And there was that clicking sound again, he realized. What _was_ it? In the blackness behind the blindfold his thoughts picked up speed again, frantically bumping into one another and splitting into even smaller pieces.

“Remember to breathe, Sam,” the voice above him said softly. Knitting his brows together Sam felt himself suddenly suck in a shaky breath that he didn’t know he had been forgetting to take. As air flooded his lungs it felt like they caught on fire. How long had he held his breath? He honestly didn’t know. He couldn’t remember. Queasy and confused he tried to map out the last few minutes in his mind but found that he couldn’t. Not really. Why was he on the floor? He wanted to rewind and tap into the memory he knew had to be there, but before he could something cold and wet suddenly touched him, slipping in between his buttocks and lightly circling his hole. This time a choked sound made its way out of his mouth when the sensation zapped up his spine and spread like tendrils, and he snapped for air.

“Easy, it’ll warm up quickly,” the voice said, and the cold wetness poked carefully at his entrance, making Sam let out another choked sound from somewhere deep in his throat. Robbed of his sight he felt so utterly helpless and with his mind spinning in such a big, chaotic mess he couldn’t even gather enough brain power to convince himself to calm down. To get some sort of overview, something he could work with. Instead he was panicking, he realized feverishly. He could tell by the way his breathing had now sped up into irregular heaving and his heart was pounding away against his breast bone. 

“There we go. It’s better now, isn’t it?” the throaty voice above him said, and vaguely Sam thought he registered that the cold slickness touching him had actually turned just as warm as his body. He wasn’t too sure though – because all he could focus on right now was a blunt pressure starting to build, something pressing against him and wiggling and probing. Automatically he tried to clench as much as he could, tried to somehow keep what had to be the man’s finger from breaching him. Panic rippled through him by the thought alone, and a tiny grunt made it out of his mouth this time. It sounded so strange though. Foreign somehow. Like it wasn’t his own voice.

“Sssh. Don’t make a fuss now,” the man’s voice said, and Sam realized that he must have leaned down over him a bit, because he was certain that he could feel the puffs of air from his breath hitting his nape and upper back. Or maybe he just imagined it.

“Relax for me,” the stranger whispered, and something in his voice made Sam’s gut feel like it turned itself inside out and back again. The order was totally redundant as well, because even if he wanted to relax, it was completely impossible for his body to turn any limper than it already was. Every inch of him felt sluggish and gooey and weak. He couldn’t even clench hard enough to keep the man’s finger from almost slipping inside of him when the furled muscle was nudged just a little bit harder. A small hiss escaped Sam, and he tried to gather all of his strength in order to get his body to listen to reason, to obey the instructions his mind was sending it. But it only resulted in a twitch rolling down his spine and a pathetic attempt to turn his hands into fists. Useless.

“That’s it, just relax,” the man said, and something husky had crept into his voice now, turning the otherwise tenor sound of it into something closer to baritone. And then the finger pressed harder. The slick on it made it slide too easily, and Sam bared his teeth - and he felt his body beginning to give in to the persistent pressure. _'Stop!' _his mind screamed, but before it could translate into sound he felt himself being breached, the tip of the man’s finger slipping inside of him. 

“Ahh…!”

For a moment Sam was surprised to finally hear his own voice, amazed that he had managed to actually get his throat to do what he wanted it to. Well, almost. Apparently his vocal chords had been woken up a little, but the protest was still so low that he wasn’t sure if maybe he was the only one who heard it. The stranger didn’t seem like he heard a thing, because he kept going, slowly but surely driving the digit in deeper.

“So tight…” he said under his breath in a moan. Sam wanted to scream. Not that it hurt half as much as he thought it would, but the humiliation sure did. It was horrific. And the alien feeling of something pressing itself inside of him had his mind reeling, had him gasping for air and a deep flush spreading everywhere on his skin from embarrassment and shock. Goosebumps rose by the thousands in a matter of seconds, and behind the blindfold he squeezed his eyes shut so hard that he was certain the blackness turned just as scarlet as the blood flowing through the veins in his eyelids.

“Oh, you feel so soft… Almost like velvet,” the stranger said, wiggling his finger a little and making Sam let out a strangled gasp. 

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am for this, you know,” the man said softly, pushing the digit deeper inside. Another guttural sound made its way out of Sam’s mouth, and he thought he felt his lips trying to form some sort of protest – but no coherent words came out, only something that resembled whimpers. He hadn’t noticed before, but the blindfold was feeling wet against his skin, and he realized that tears were apparently escaping his closed eyes.

“How honored I feel to be the first to… To know you like this,” the voice said, a slight tremble in it somewhere. And Sam sucked in a mouthful of air through gritted teeth when a second finger joined the other one, starting to push against him gently. 

Was this really happening? Sam couldn’t collect his thoughts enough to answer his own question - all he could do right now was feel. And the pressure kept building, but despite the insistent push it didn’t hurt. Not really. The stranger kept working his slick fingers, moving them around in a way that almost felt like a caress or massage, rubbing and probing the tender flesh. He was methodical. Focused. And it seemed like he really didn’t want to cause Sam any physical pain, because even though he was applying pressure he did it slowly and patiently, almost like he was waiting for Sam’s body to adjust. Nausea washed through the hunter by the thought. If only he had some pain to focus on this might be easier to handle. 

“I am truly blessed,” the man said, sounding close to astounded. And the second finger slipped inside of Sam, joining the first, as his body gave in to the firm yet gentle pressure. As the thick digits pushed inside of him, he was certain that pain would engulf his insides in a flash of white hot agony – but to his surprise it didn’t. Instead it just felt strange and uncomfortable, but there was no pain. Maybe it was the drug he had been given? Or maybe it was the man’s methodical and slow approach? A mix? Sam didn’t know. What he did know was that his head was swimming, and he noticed that he was snapping for air, sucking in one panicked breath after the other way too fast.

“It’s okay, it’s okay…” the stranger whispered, apparently picking up on Sam hyperventilating. A choked sound escaped the hunter as he attempted to control his breathing and failed. Because this was anything but okay. It was as far from okay as it could possibly get.

“I know this is new. But we’ll take it slow. I promise,” the stranger’s voice assured him. And it felt like the man was leaning down further now, because the puffs of breath hitting Sam’s nape seemed to turn warmer and stronger. And faster. Yes, they were undoubtedly turning faster. Sam cringed.

“You’re so beautiful,” the man whispered softly, and his free hand began to card through Sam's chestnut hair. The touch was so gentle that it almost mimicked one of true compassion. Under different circumstances it might even have felt soothing – but right now all it did was send a lightning bolt of disgust and dread through Sam. Then, in the same moment, he felt the man’s fingers inside of him start to move differently, start to wiggle and curl and spread. A small grunt escaped him when his walls were slowly forced to expand to accommodate the digits and the new kind of movement. Slowly a dull, burning sensation started to spread and trickle up Sam’s spine in an almost tingly way, and he ground his teeth, trying his best to block it out. But no matter how hard he tried to distance himself, to think of something else, he failed miserably. All he could feel was the wet blindfold covering his eyes, the cold linoleum against his skin and the alien sensation of being slowly scissored open. It was too much. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” the stranger’s voice asked, and Sam wanted to scream. As the man’s breath ghosted across the back of his neck there was nothing he wanted more than to whip his head backwards, crushing the bastard’s nose in a vicious headbutt. But nothing happened. Nothing whatsoever. Instead the man’s fingers stayed buried in his hair and in his ass, stroking, pushing, rubbing.

“Yes, you’re ready now. I can tell,” the voice said, almost in a purr, and Sam frowned behind the blindfold.

“So nice and open. Perfect. Just like I knew you’d be,” the stranger said, and a whimper escaped Sam when the fingers were pulled out of him with a wet sound, leaving him feeling strangely empty. His walls almost felt like they were quivering, aching to clench and contract. But they didn’t. It was like his body had zero control over its muscles, just leaving them lax and uncooperative.

“I love you, Sam. I have loved you for so long. Longed for you. Dreamed of you. You already know that, of course, but… But now I can finally show you,” the stranger whispered in his ear, and suddenly he pulled back a little. Sam’s frown grew a little bigger. The hand on his head was still letting its fingers stroke his hair, playing with the locks and lightly tugging on strands while the man seemed to be fumbling with something. In the darkness behind the tear-stained blindfold Sam then felt him settle on the floor in between his spread legs - and instantly every alarm bell in his mind went off once again, now blaring out a high-pitched ringing that filled his ears with the kind of sound a boiling kettle would make. Panic shot through him, the volume of the sudden tinnitus being close to painful and almost muting everything else. But it didn’t manage to drown out the distinctive sound of a zipper being opened. 


	4. Chapter 4

Sam’s head was swimming, panic racing through him with such a speed that he was uncertain if he might be passing out. He hoped that he was. Because there was no doubt left in his mind that the stranger was taking off his pants. The vague but telltale metallic rattling of a belt buckle being opened pierced right through the noise of the pulse roaring in his ears – even his high-pitched tinnitus wasn’t able to drown it out even though the metallic sound was so faint that it almost wasn’t audible. Then came the ruffling of clothes. Sam’s breath hitched, and horror zapped through him like electric currents, zinging from one nerve ending to another and making him gasp out louder than he thought he was capable of in his current state.

“I love you so, so much,” the man behind him whispered, suddenly sounding short of breath. Sam could feel him nudging lightly at the inside of his parted legs, and then came a new sound that he couldn’t decipher. It almost sounded like a crackle of some sort. His overworked mind instantly spiked with a new wave of dread, reeling and racing to figure out what the source of it was. It sounded almost like something was being ripped or torn. Something thin. Like tinfoil or plastic or something of that kind.

“I wish it didn’t have to be like this, I really do. It’s not that I don’t think you’re clean… I’m just not sure if I can trust you yet,” the man continued, and Sam’s brows knitted themselves together in confusion behind the blindfold. What was he talking about? But it only took a second or two for his hazed mind to realize what his kidnapper meant, and bile instantly tickled the inside of his throat.

“I’m doing it for both of us, really…” the stranger said, and a slick sound reached Sam’s ears as the man put on the condom. As he stuffed its torn wrapper back into his pocket the crackling sound returned, making the hunter shudder when he felt his stomach flip, trying to automatically rid itself of its contents. But nothing happened. He didn’t even have enough control over his body to retch.

“Just be good for me now,” the man instructed, and Sam could feel him positioning himself in between his legs, lowering himself down over him in the process. And there was that clicking sound from earlier. It was the unmistakable sound of a small plastic lid being popped open, and Sam recognized it all too well. It could only be the lube_. ‘No’_, his mind argued, desperately trying to will it not to be true. Because he had to be mistaken, it had to be something else. It just had to. Because this couldn't be happening - no one in their right mind would do this to somebody. But then something cold and wet suddenly touched the cleft of his ass, rubbing against it lightly – and it didn’t feel like fingers this time. Petrified Sam instantly tried to scream, a primal kind of fear flooding his mind like a raging tidal wave and almost knocking the wind out of him. _‘No!’_ his mind roared again, this time in full blown panic. With numb fingers trying to yank at the ropes and legs trying to kick, he gathered all of his strength to bellow out a loud ‘help’ or ‘stop’ - anything - but it just turned into a low grunt, incoherent and weak. And he didn’t move.

“I’m going to make you feel so good,” the man said, almost in a whisper, and Sam felt fingers gently carding through his hair, gathering it in a loose ponytail as his assailant leaned down over him further. The puffs of breath hitting the side of his face grew harder and made him cringe, and he just wanted to flinch away from it. At the same time he felt how the slick hardness pushing against him slipped in between his ass cheeks, a generous amount of lube making it slide across his skin effortlessly. Too wet, too slippery. Too easy. And way too much for his mind to even process. Another low grunt escaped him and he squeezed his eyes shut even harder behind the blindfold when his heart did a painful double beat. It literally felt like his chest would burst right open, because his heart was banging against his sternum with the force of a sledgehammer, quick thumps of pain making his head spin even more as panic engulfed his mind.

“So beautiful for me, Sam,” the man’s voice moaned in his ear, and Sam felt him wiggle his hips a little, lining himself up. What had to be the tip of the stranger’s dick was now nudging gently at his entrance, a blunt pressure slowly building. Pure horror flashed through Sam’s mind, and he felt his Adam’s apple bob when a yelp got stuck somewhere in his throat.

“So, so beautiful…” the man said, his voice a little shaky as he pushed a bit harder against the furled muscle. While he breathed heavily in Sam’s ear his fingers were working as a makeshift brush carding through the chestnut locks as if he was trying to soothe his victim, trying to offer some sort of comfort.

“Nnngh…!” Sam heard himself manage to utter when the word ‘no’ got jumbled up and turned into a feeble grunt. The man didn’t seem to notice. Instead the pressure kept building while the stranger's hand petted his hair a little quicker, fingers eagerly grabbing a hold of a few locks while he rolled his hips gently – and instantly Sam’s face scrunched up when he felt his body begin to give in. He wanted to fight the intrusion so badly, to resist, to clench and tense up – but none of that happened. None of it. Instead of putting up a fight his body was far too pliant and vulnerable, just lying there on the floor while the man leaned down further, planting small kisses on the side of his neck. And then the pressure increased once again.

“That’s it, that’s it…” the stranger cooed - and the words turned into a throaty moan when finally the flared head of his cock breached the warm body below, slipping into the tight heat. Something close to a mewl escaped Sam, and the hoarse and desperate noise seemed to almost reverberate between the tile walls of the kitchen, amplifying as it bounced off every surface and returned to Sam’s ears like a sonic boomerang. When it returned he almost didn’t recognize his own voice. It sounded… Different.

“Oh, Sam… Oh, you’re so… So warm and tight…” the stranger moaned, voice trembling and sounding strained. Baring his teeth in a silent scream Sam felt himself twitch slightly when the hard length was pushed in just a tiny bit more, stretching him and dragging against his insides. A keening sort of sound slipped out of his mouth, and he couldn’t repress the tiny sob that followed. 

“I really am your first, aren’t I?” the stranger whispered against the shell of his ear, peppering small kisses down his neck and jaw line. Sam shuddered, cold sweat suddenly covering his body in a thin sheet when the man stilled a little inside of him. Apparently he wanted to take his time, and Sam could feel his sturdy frame trembling on top of him. If it was because of exertion or excitement he didn’t know. What he did know was that he felt so incredibly full, stretched far beyond what he had thought possible without some serious pain accompanying it. But it didn’t really hurt. In fact it was horrifically painless. 

“I knew you’d wait for me, Sam…. I just knew you would,” the man babbled in his ear, nibbling on the lobe and grazing the soft skin there with his teeth, leaving faint pink scrape marks behind. An incoherent whimper made its way out of Sam’s mouth, and his mind spun fast enough to almost make him forget how to breathe. Wheezing he tried to focus on getting his fingers to scratch the maniac on top of him, to inflict some sort of pain and make him pull back – but his bound hands merely twitched lazily, numb fingers not moving. 

“Knew it all along…” the stranger gasped, not taking the slightest notice of Sam’s attempt to fight back. Instead he moaned something undecipherable in his ear and rolled his hips, pushing his cock inside a little deeper. When Sam felt his walls being forced to expand further to accommodate the intruding length, he snapped for air as if all oxygen has suddenly been sucked out of the room. He felt like he was suffocating. As his throat constricted and his chest tightened in panic, he let out a strangled sound, teeth bared and a new layer of cold sweat and goosebumps spreading on his feverish skin.

“Ssh, it’s alright. I’m almost there, just relax for me, okay?” the man moaned softly, fingers gently carding through his hair with repetitive movements. Sam didn’t know if he wanted to burst into tears or laughter. Why did the bastard keep telling him to relax?! He couldn’t possibly get any more relaxed than what he was right now – even his bones felt like jell-o, useless and gooey. And every muscle in his body had gone offline long ago, refusing to clench or even tense up. Yet here the man was instructing him to ‘relax’. As if Sam had a choice. A sniffle escaped him when he felt the hard cock drive itself in a little deeper, impaling him further when his muscles did absolutely nothing to prevent it. He was powerless.

“Oh… Oh, you’re taking me so good, Sam…”

The husky voice made him want to throw up right then and there. And the strange pseudo-kindness made every hair on his body stand up straight, made every instinct scream at him to fight back with everything he had. Only, he didn’t have the strength to comply. Not in the slightest. Every tiny ounce of it seemed to have drained from him completely as the tranquilizer flowed through his veins, creeping deeper and deeper into his system.

“There… There we go…” the stranger moaned just as his balls finally came to rest against Sam’s, pelvis pressed flush against his ass. Completely sheathed inside the limp body underneath him the man let out a groan and began to nuzzle the tip of his nose into Sam’s nape and the hair there, breathing in his scent. An appreciative moan instantly escaped him, face buried deep in the locks. _‘Please, don’t,’_ Sam’s mind whispered and even inside his head he thought he could hear the panic in his own voice. Strong puffs of air from the stranger’s breath hit his neck and the side of his face, and he winced as soft fingers kept carding through his hair again and again, massaging his scalp as they went. 

With a whimper Sam tried to think of something else. Anything else. Why couldn’t it just hurt more? Why did this horrific invasion of his body only leave him to feel strangely stuffed and stretched – instead of making white hot pain shoot in all directions? Like it should? No pain meant that he had nothing to distract himself with. He had nothing to cling on to other than this alien feeling of being stuffed so full that he was certain something had to be tearing inside of him. And the nauseating feeling of complete and utter humiliation made him want to curl in on himself, made him want to just disappear and never come back.

“Ple…” 

At first Sam didn’t realize that he actually managed to get his throat to produce a sound, but his cheeks burned even fiercer when it dawned on him that he was trying to beg. He was trying to plead with his assailant. Even though the word couldn’t leave his lips in full, it resonated within his own head, panging around inside it like one of those small metal balls in a pinball machine. And it hurt. It hurt more than the hardness so ruthlessly impaling him. So help him God, it hurt more. If only it didn’t.

“So good for me…” the stranger moaned breathlessly in his ear. And he began to pull back out a little, the flared head of his cock dragging and pulling on Sam’s unresponsive walls. But it still didn’t really hurt. Instead it just felt warm and suffocating and slick and wrong and another whimper escaped Sam when a tongue licked into the hair in the back of his neck. _‘Please!’_ his mind yelled frantically. He wasn’t even sure which he was begging for – for the man to stop or to just hurt him in a way he could physically feel and relate to. If only he would at least hit him or cut him up or—

“Y-You are such… Such… A good…” the man stuttered as he pulled himself almost all the way out, only to slowly sink back in, his entire body trembling.

“… Such a good boy,” he groaned into Sam’s nape, burying himself to the hilt once more. This time a quiet sob was ripped from Sam’s throat. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the words or the hot breath on his skin or the cock splitting him in two or the lack of pain. _‘But since when do you cry because it doesn’t hurt?_’ Sam’s mind piped up, nausea washing through him with enough intensity to suddenly make him doubt if he really had lost the ability to retch after all.

“Taste so wonderful,” the stranger gasped as his wet tongue lapped on Sam’s hair, soaking the strands in saliva when he buried his nose even deeper in the brown locks. At the same time his fingers were still caressing it, gathering it in a handful only to let it go and then repeat. 

Sam’s lips quivered as another silent ‘please’ tried to break free but couldn’t. And even though his body was limp and pliant he could feel himself almost hug the veiny length inside of him, his walls not resisting the invasion but not able to expand any further either. The snug fit seemed to please his attacker, because the man was starting to tremble more and panting noises left him in a steady stream as he began to set a pace, rolling his hips and making sure to bottom out with each thrust. His movements were calculated and deliberate. Confident. And almost passionate.

“My beautiful Samuel,” he moaned, his other hand travelling down Sam’s side and in between his legs to carefully nudge them further apart. A mewl escaped Sam when he felt an arm being hooked under his knee to pull it up towards his shoulder, exposing him even more and spreading him wide. _‘Stop,’_ Sam’s mind whimpered, and he heaved for air when the stranger drove his cock into him even deeper than before, aided by the new position and angle.

“Oh…! Oh, you feel incredible…!” the man panted, bucking his hips a little and making filthy sounds of skin slapping against skin echo between the walls. The generous amount of lube made it sound even more wet and dirty, made Sam’s body produce squishy sounds around the wide girth every time it was pushed into him.

“Nn… Nnn-plea-eas…” Sam heard his own voice slur lowly, his hopeless plea cut in two by a thrust of the stranger’s hips. The man was gasping for air now, rolling his hips in earnest and grinding against Sam’s backside with what felt like his entire bodyweight. Sam couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t even think. And he couldn’t make it stop.

“I love you,” the stranger breathed into his hair, his mouth half full of the dark locks which muffled the words a little. Not enough though, because Sam could hear them just fine – and the passionate statement sent a shudder through him. He really sounded sincere, and Sam’s gut churned. The bucks of the man’s hips were gradually growing a bit harder, a bit more eager, and Sam could feel the cold linoleum underneath him nip and pull at his sweaty skin when he was pushed forwards just a little with each thrust. The new position left him to feel even more vulnerable, his knee pulled up and out enough to make his lower back twist awkwardly. And the man kept relentlessly fucking into him, exploiting the angle in order to go deep enough to make Sam let out a throaty pant every time he smacked against him. It seemed like he was actually trying to rip those sounds from his throat, trying to provoke a reaction.

“Oh, I love you so much…!”

Sam’s head was spinning, and everything was doing barrel rolls in the darkness behind the blindfold. It felt like he was tied to a carousel just going around and around way too fast. And his body felt as heavy as it felt sluggish, unable to move, unable to wiggle as much as a pinky in this drugged state. The sounds his body was making had him shuddering and made his stomach flip violently all while small sounds of protest spilled from his mouth whenever he could get his vocal chords to just partially cooperate.

“I’m-I’m… G-Gonna…!” the man groaned, and Sam could feel his hips starting to stutter. As the thrusts grew erratic, the stranger dug his fingers into his hair, grabbing handfuls of it as if he was trying to cling on to it for dear life. Sam bared his teeth when his head was pulled upwards a little, a tongue sloppily lapping on the back of his ear and wetting his hair even more.

“Mine, mine, mine…!” the man moaned, almost chanted, and now his thrusts grew a bit harder, and the fingers tightened their grip on the hunter's hair. Wincing Sam let out a strangled sound when he felt the cock inside of him grow even bigger, forcing his walls to expand further than what he thought physically possible. This time there was a hint of a stinging sort of pain, but not nearly enough to distract him. It wasn’t at all enough, yet still he tried to cling on to the feeling, tried to latch on to the burn and the sting – but it faded as quickly as it came. Apparently his body adjusted quickly, and he was once again left with that horrific sensation of just feeling stuffed and beyond full. Dirty.

“Mine!!” the man growled, and suddenly he pulled out. As the flared head of his cock caught on Sam’s rim on the way out, a gasp was ripped from both of them – one of pleasure and one of pain. When the thick length finally left his body, Sam felt strangely empty. His walls were fluttering around nothing, and he had no doubt that he was gaping, cool kitchen air nipping at the abused and overused space. To his surprise his assailant then pulled back more, lifting the suffocating weight off of his back – and one of his hands let go of his hair. Then there was the sound of a condom being ripped off.

“You know you’re mine…! You know it!” the man groaned, and the sound of him jerking off seemed loud in the kitchen. The vulgar and wet sound of foreskin being pulled back and forth over the head of his cock seemed incredibly loud all of sudden, and Sam let out a slurred whimper. He could feel how the man was kneeling in between his spread legs, one hand on his cock and one in Sam’s hair.

“And I know you love me!” the man's voice gasped, his hand speeding up its movement, tugging feverishly on the engorged flesh.

“Can’t hide it…” he whispered sharply, his ragged breathing growing a bit faster when he twisted his hand in Sam’s hair, pulling on it a little. 

“Say you’re mine!” he then suddenly said, out of breath. Sam automatically tried to shake his head, but couldn’t. He couldn’t even get his vocal chords to say ‘no’. Instead all he could do was feel absolutely worthless. Right now the only things going through his mind were helplessness, fear and shame. God, he felt so ashamed. Used. Filthy.

“Say it!” the man barked, and the hand in Sam’s hair tugged on it insistently. As if that was going to somehow magically loosen his tongue and undo the current paralysis of his vocal chords. Sam’s nostrils flared, and he realized that he must have cried a rather big pool of tears, because not only was the blindfold soaked, but the linoleum floor was as well.

“Just make a sound for me, Sam… Just tell me…!” the stranger said, this time in a softer voice. But it was shaking with both exertion and eagerness as he kept stroking himself while lightly tugging on the hunter's hair. Instantly Sam tried to press his lips into a thin line, refusing to let any sound escape him. Only, his lips weren’t moving at all. Parted and tingly they just stayed the way they were.

“Tell me… Just a small sound, Sam… Come on…”

Sam squeezed his eyes shut hard enough to hurt, and he swallowed dryly. Determined to stay silent he shuddered when he suddenly felt a hand on his back – apparently the man had let go of himself.

“Tell me you’re mine…”

The hand began to slide down the length of his back, following every curve and dip of muscle on its way. Sam felt himself tremble so hard that it had to be visible, but he refused to make a sound. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

“Samuel…?” the man said, his voice sounding serious and dropping a note or two. Almost like he was growing impatient. And the hand had reached the small of Sam’s back, seemingly heading towards the cleft of his ass.

“Say it. Make a sound for me!” the stranger ordered, and now the hand dipped three of its fingers in between Sam’s legs. And suddenly, without warning, all three of them were forced inside the still tight hole at the same time. As they were pushed in all the way to the third knuckle, they forced the muscle to stretch so fast that it felt like it was being shredded. Before Sam had a chance to stop himself his throat let out a mix between a shocked gasp and a whimper when it felt like he was punched in the gut, the fingers reaching deep inside of him and filling him up far too fast, knocking the wind out of his lungs in the process_. ‘No!’_ his mind screamed at him and a whole new kind of self-loathing washed over him. One thing was not to be able to move or defend himself – but now he made a sound when he shouldn’t and didn’t even want to. Hell, for the last hour or so he hadn’t been able to produce sound even though he had desperately wanted to! So, why? Why did he have to do it now? Fresh tears soaked the blindfold further, and he shook with anger and fear. He felt disgusted with himself.

“That’s right… I knew it…” the man said somewhere above him, his voice sounding almost proud. A quiet sob escaped Sam, and he gasped when the fingers slipped out of him, leaving him empty once more. And then the sound of the stranger stroking himself returned, slippery noises echoing between the tile walls.

“You’ll always be mine, Sam,” he moaned, starting to loudly heave for air. The fingers in Sam’s hair carded through it a little faster, fingertips softly running over his scalp in the process while the man’s body seemed to shake.

“Nn…”

The sound Sam’s throat produced was so low that it probably didn't stand a chance of reaching the stranger's ears. It just seemed to dissolve into silence. Sam found himself wanting to curl up into a ball at the sound of this weak and completely failed attempt to protest, to say ‘no’. The single syllable word simply refused to leave his lips, and he swore that he had never felt this small in his entire life. This weak. This pathetic.

“Always mine,” the stranger moaned, and now Sam registered that he moved up to straddle his back, the heavy body sinking down to rest on his trapped forearms. As a knee was placed on either side of him, Sam felt the man’s body heat radiate onto his skin, their sweat mixing. He cringed when he felt the stranger’s balls rest heavily in between his shoulder blades, moving and slapping against him every time the man tugged on his cock.

“Always-oh… Mine-ungh…! Ah…!” the man grunted breathlessly, and his fingers moved faster in Sam’s hair, their movement turning almost frantic. It seemed the hand he had on his cock moved faster as well, because the wet sound of him jerking off picked up its speed, the rhythm getting faster and sloppier. Sam winced, trying to turn away from the sound – but he didn’t move. Not at all. 

“I-I love you, Samuel…! Oh, god…!” the stranger growled, and at the same time he scooted up Sam’s back a little further, sturdy thighs bracketing his shoulders. And now Sam felt the tip of the man’s cock nudge his cheek and ear as he kept tugging on himself, sticky pre-cum drooling onto his skin and into his hair. He could feel the man’s body tense up, the fingers in his hair tightening their grip and pulling his head up from the cold and wet linoleum floor with a firm yank.

“Yes…! Ahh! Yes, oh, sh—“ the man groaned, cutting himself off when his voice turned into a guttural roar and his body stiffened in a cramp. 

Sam let out a small whimper when thick splatters of cum landed in his hair and on the side of his face, warm and wet. The man on top of him jerked violently, knees shaking as ropes of semen kept shooting from him to coat the back of Sam’s neck and drench his hair in sticky globs of white. The sound coming from the man’s throat sounded animalistic, like some sort of choked snarl or hiss, and he let his fingers card through Sam’s hair again, smearing his release into it and massaging his scalp with it. 

Sam heard himself sob as his stomach flipped and bile climbed halfway up his throat again, barely staying down this time. Disgusted he felt how heavy and sticky his hair was, dark brown tangles now glued together with cum and sweat. The pads of the man’s fingertips were still working through it, seeming determined to cover every single strand of hair in the warm and slimy substance. Shuddering Sam then felt how the muscles in the man’s thighs started to relax as he began to come down from his high, a ragged exhale escaping him. 

“Ohhh… That… That was amazing,” he gasped, trying to catch his breath. His fingers had stopped their frantic massage, but they were still carding through Sam’s drenched hair, petting him softly. Trying to suppress more tears from escaping his eyes Sam bit the inside of his cheek, focusing on the slight coppery taste beginning to spread in his too dry mouth.

“_You_ were amazing,” the man whispered, leaning down a little.

“And this looks so good on you,” he added, tugging on the cum-covered tangles of hair triumphantly.

“So beautiful…” he praised, and finally he motioned to let go of the sticky locks. But he seemed reluctant to do so, and for a moment he just sat there on top of Sam’s limp body, reveling in the feeling of it. His breathing had evened out at last, and eventually Sam felt his fingers slowly let go of his hair.

“Well… We better get you cleaned up, mm?” he said softly and petted Sam’s head one last time before he got to his feet, taking his weight off his back. Sucking in a big breath of air Sam realized that his eyes were watering more than before, tears freely streaming out through and under the blindfold to roll down his cheeks. Apparently he had started to cry without even noticing. The taste of blood in his mouth was still there, but he had forgotten about it. Everything just seemed strangely hazy and it felt like he was wrapped in warm cotton once again even though the kitchen was cold and the floor was near freezing.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back,” the stranger’s voice said, and the sound of the linoleum squeaking under his feet reached Sam’s ears. Was he leaving the room? Sam’s mind was swimming and everything was sailing around behind his closed eyelids even though he tried to focus. Why couldn’t he focus? The sound of footsteps faded as the man walked out of the kitchen, leaving Sam naked and bound on the floor. Alone. 

_‘Run!’_ his mind yelled, forgetting that he couldn’t even move. How could he forget that? Everything spun and felt wobbly. Distant. Unreal. Like a dream. _‘Maybe it really is a dream,’_ Sam’s mind whispered, and he frowned a little behind the blindfold. Could it be? Maybe this was all just some freaky nightmare induced by one too many hunts and one too many beers? How many had he had again?

“Here we are,” the stranger’s voice suddenly said. Was he back already? How could he possibly be back so soon? Last time Sam heard his voice was like two seconds ago. _‘You’re dreaming,’_ his mind suggested – after all everything is possible in dreams and the only explanation he could think of right now would be that he had to be asleep. Unless the man was capable of time travel of course, Sam thought to himself hazily.

“You look absolutely stunning…” the stranger said somewhere in the kitchen. In the same moment there was a metallic clank when something heavy was put down on the floor. Then there was a swashing sort of sound. Unable to decipher what it might mean Sam wished that he could just remove the damn blindfold – only, right now he wasn’t sure if he would be able to open his eyes even if given the opportunity.

“It’s a shame to wash it off, really,” the voice said. If he had been able to Sam would have jumped, because the man was suddenly a hell of a lot closer than seconds ago. And now the sound of drops hitting the linoleum reached his ears. Water? And what was that smell? It smelled kind of flowery and maybe there were notes of sandalwood or something mixed in there too_? ‘Soap,’_ Sam’s mind piped up. Of course it was soap. Why hadn’t he picked up on that before now? His senses must be far duller than he had thought.

“But we better. Just to be safe,” the voice continued, and this time Sam thought it sounded strangely distant even though it seemed to be coming from somewhere very close to his ear. The voice was fuzzy – like the man was speaking through a filter or the like. God, he felt tired. So tired. Why couldn’t he just wake up from this nightmare?

“I’ll just help you get… ”

Sam’s brows knitted themselves together when the last part of the stranger’s sentence seemed to dissolve into some warped sound that he couldn’t make heads or tails of. It definitely wasn’t words. Instead it sounded airy and strange, like his voice was somehow tweaked into a buzzing noise that almost wasn’t human and didn’t make a lick of sense. _‘Dreams rarely make sense,’_ his mind mumbled somewhere far away.

“… To clean up this… Just gotta… We have to wash off…”

The fragments of sentences grew more and more faint, and even when Sam strained his ears to pick up on the words in man’s continuous flow of speech it just kept sounding like garbled gibberish with gaps of white noise in between. He then registered that something warm and wet was touching his hair. Something very wet. It was way too wet to be the man’s mouth, and too soft as well. _‘Cloth?’_ his mind asked in confusion. But he didn’t know. And somehow he couldn’t gather enough energy right now to think about it any further. How had he gotten here again?

“… Too beautiful to… Not going to hurt… Did so good…”

Sam wanted to knit his eyebrows together again and focus on the words, but found that he couldn’t. It was impossible. Like his brain was beginning to shut down, refusing to properly process anything. It almost felt like he was falling asleep, he realized. For a split second he wondered if it was normal to fall asleep in a dream, but the thought escaped him before he could finish it. At the same time he thought he felt the warm and wet thing move down the length of his back and rub in between his legs, but he wasn’t sure if he just imagined it. Shouldn’t he be sore there? He knew that he should be, but for some reason he wasn’t. A shudder rolled down his spine.

“… Just gonna… Such a good boy…” 

The white noise began to grow a little louder. As it swallowed more and more of the stranger’s words Sam thought he could feel his hair being stroked and rubbed, fingers moving around in it vigorously. And it felt heavier and wetter than before. As he pondered why this might be, the darkness behind the blindfold grew a bit darker. _‘How can black get any darker?’_ he thought dizzily as the ground seemed to sway under him. The linoleum felt like one big pool of water. It was lukewarm, and Sam couldn’t help but wonder if he had really cried this much. He didn’t know. He just wanted to wake up.

“… Have to… Doing so won—… Is absolu—… I lov—… “

A warm stream of air suddenly hit Sam’s face, blowing across his skin. It was like a strong, hot breeze suddenly enveloping him. And what was that loud sound? Apparently the white noise had grown almost ear-deafening by now. He didn’t really care though. He probably should.

“… Wan—… G—… Let—… N—…” 

Sam’s head swam as he gave up on deciphering what was probably words. They were far too mushy to make sense of anyway. Why did he feel so god damn heavy? Was he being moved? He honestly couldn’t tell. And where had all that wet stuff gone? He didn’t know the answer to that either. His mind just seemed to go blank, intermezzos of black nothingness flickering in and out of his consciousness. Wait, was he even conscious? He couldn’t really remember. _‘Are you conscious when dreaming?’_ he asked himself hazily. But he didn’t get an answer. Instead the pitch black darkness behind the blindfold grew denser and expanded, pulling him down into a floating sort of state. Yet he still felt so heavy. The feeling of being wrapped in a cocoon of warm cotton had returned tenfold, and Sam suddenly couldn’t hear his own mind anymore. 


	5. Chapter 5

The darkness felt suffocating. Thick. The warm feeling of cotton was gone and now it felt like a blanket was covering him, like he was being crushed under it. It almost felt like it was moving as well, warm and hard and scary and stealing the air from his lungs as he was slowly smothered. Trying to gasp for air Sam thought he could feel something touching him, but he couldn’t seem to pinpoint from where. Everything was a blur. The touch came from everywhere and nowhere, making his mind spike with horror and shame and repulsion. He wanted to open his eyes, to snap out of it – but his eyelids felt heavy and lazy, and they didn’t respond. _‘Run!’_ his hazed mind yelled. He had to run. To get away. Away from the touch. Away from… Him.

“… Sam…”

The sound of his name echoed inside his head and he wanted to scream. Not again. He couldn’t go through this again. A shudder ran through him, trickled up and down his spine like an icy cascade of water. He wanted to remain unconscious, to remain submerged in this weird and only semi-aware state. In fact he would give anything not to open his eyes right now, he realized. Because surely that chequered linoleum floor would flicker back into focus and it would all start over again. Bile tickled his throat, and he thought he heard himself make a sound from somewhere deep in his chest. He couldn’t be certain though.

“Sam…!” 

_‘Please, no!’_ his mind cried, trying to cling on to the tar-like nothingness which seemed to want to release him. It was no longer pitch black behind the blindfold – just dark – and it scared him. It scared him more than he would like to admit.

“Wake up…!”

Why couldn’t he just be left alone? Why wouldn’t the maniac leave him be? The white noise from earlier seemed to have returned, buzzing away like the sound of distant traffic. He hadn’t even noticed that it had disappeared to begin with. The suffocating feeling surrounding him grew a little stronger along with the noise, leaving him to shudder. And he realized that something was touching his cheek, tapping it repeatedly_. _Fingertips._ ‘No!’ _his mind screamed. Wanting to flinch he winced when it felt like the darkness was suddenly ripped away from him – and he sucked in a big breath of air through gritted teeth, oxygen flooding his lungs and making them sting.

“Sam, wake up!”

The voice was louder now, booming, and Sam just wanted to cower. But he couldn’t fight the light starting to spread behind his closed eyelids, slowly illuminating the darkness and forcing his mind to take another step into the conscious world. Into the lion’s den. _‘No!’_ his mind screamed again. Wait, had his throat just made a sound? He wasn’t sure, but it felt like it. He was pretty certain his lips had moved as well. But they weren’t the only thing moving – the fingertips were still touching his cheek, and this time they weren’t tapping. They were slapping him impatiently.

_‘Leave me alone!’_ Sam screamed inside his mind, and his throat and neck strained as if he was trying to move away from the touch. What was that sound? It sounded just like his own voice.

“God damn it, just wake up!” the voice ordered, and now something grabbed a hold of his wrist – wait, was his arm flailing? It had to be, because his hand was stuck somewhere mid-air, a strong set of fingers locked around his wrist. _‘No, no, no, please!’ _he screamed, feverishly realizing that he had been untied – but he was still trapped. Why? Why was he still trapped? As panic rippled through him, he felt himself try to wrench his wrist out of the mean grip – but the fingers tightened around him like a vice, keeping him in place. At the same time another hand grabbed his shoulder, shaking him with enough force to make his teeth chatter. And something snapped in his mind. 

“No!”

Snapping for air Sam felt his eyes fly open, forgetting about the blindfold – and before he even realized it his other hand was balled into a fist, whistling through the air towards his target. With a loud ‘smack’ he felt his knuckles collide with what had to be a cheekbone or forehead, and adrenaline surged through him with enough intensity to finally wake him up completely. Everything was a flurry of flailing limbs and motion blur, and he could hear a groan and a thud as the man fell to the floor.

“Fuck!! Sam, you’re dreaming! You’re having a nightmare!” the voice yelled. Wheezing and heaving for air Sam felt himself scramble to get to his feet – only the ground, which felt strangely soft, disappeared from under him and he fell, landing on something that wasn’t soft but wasn’t hard either. _‘A carpet,’_ his mind burst out in bewilderment, and he let out a gasp. Fumbling to get up, he realized that he could actually see – but the place was dim now, too dim for him to properly make out anything. The blindfold must have fallen off at some point, he thought to himself frantically.

“Fuckin’ hell, Sam…! Think you split my eyebrow…” the voice grumbled somewhere nearby and Sam instantly whipped his head in the direction of the sound, eyes wide and mouth agape. He knew that voice.

“D-Dean…??” he heard himself burst out in a hoarse whisper. Shaking and with hands fumbling to find something to hold on to in the near-darkness he suddenly found himself with his back pressed against what had to be a bed. Apparently he had scooted backwards without realizing it. Was he really able to move? He was pretty sure he could feel tangled sheets against his upper back and automatically his hand closed around the wooden leg of the bed as if he could somehow ground himself with it. There was another small groan and he could hear the man move about somewhere in the murky darkness.

“Yeah…” the voice said. It sounded almost a little offended. But the familiarity of it instantly had Sam’s mind spinning in confusion. Could it really be? But before he could speculate any further there was a ‘click’ – and suddenly light pierced the darkness in bright, yellow rays. Squinting and lifting his hands to shield his face, Sam pressed his back harder against the edge of the bed, automatically trying to move away.

“Jeez… You look like shit,” the voice exclaimed, and it sounded like there was a just a tiny hint of amusement accompanying the words. Heaving for air Sam just sat there, frozen and with his legs pulled up to his chest, while he tried to get his eyes to adjust to the light – right now everything was just a chaos of brightness and blurry outlines and strange sounds, and he didn’t know what to believe or what to think. Was this really his brother? Was he back in the motel room? 

“Must’ve been some dream, huh…?” the voice mumbled, and finally Sam’s eyes began to stop watering and allowed him to make out a figure standing somewhere in the middle of the floor. The carpeted floor. It wasn’t chequered linoleum. A shudder of nervous relief washed through him, but he honestly didn’t know if he could trust any of his senses right now. What if this wasn’t real? What if his mind was playing tricks on him? Still squinting Sam carefully looked up at the man in front of him.

“You alright, man?” Dean asked, and now his features wobbled into focus as the light from the lamp finally stopped feeling like daggers poking at Sam’s eyeballs. Wide-eyed and swallowing dryly Sam found himself just looking around the room, trying to find some sort of proof that this was indeed real. It all looked real, though. Even the bottle of scotch on Dean’s nightstand stood in the exact same place as it had before all of this, its label slightly stained with whisky and the cap not properly screwed on.

“Sam?”

The gravelly voice instantly made Sam whip his head back to look at his brother. Still pressed against the edge of the bed he looked Dean up and down, desperately trying to will his breathing to slow down.

“I… I-I… Don’t know,” he heard himself rasp. Surprised that he was even able to speak he knitted his brows together in confusion. What was going on?

“You’ve been tossing and turning for half an hour. I thought I’d wake you up… Maybe that was a bad idea,” Dean huffed, but a small smile was on display on his face as he pointed to his eyebrow. Scarlet droplets were trickling down the side of his face from where Sam’s fist had hit him, and instantly the young Winchester felt his heart sink.

“Sorry… I didn’t... Didn’t mean to… Sorry…” Sam croaked, and fumbled to get up from his sitting position. As he did he was certain that his legs would give out from under him – but they didn’t. Instead his feet were solidly planted on the roughly woven carpet in the motel room, muscles not even trembling or straining to keep him upright. Bewildered he lifted his hands to feel his hair – he expected it to be wet, drenched. But it wasn’t. It was completely dry, only a little damp at the hairline because he was apparently sweating profusely right now. In disbelief he stared up at his brother, not knowing what to think.

“Dude… What’s up with you?” Dean asked, and this time he sounded more serious. A little worried, almost. Sam’s glance darted around in the room as he licked his bottom lip, and he realized that he should probably cover himself up – only, when he looked down at himself he saw that he was wearing all his clothes. Frowning he patted the flannel, trying to make sure that he wasn’t just imagining it.

“I thought… I… Is this real?” he babbled, feeling completely lost as he looked at his brother. A small huff escaped Dean, and now he was the one looking incredulous.

“Have you been doing drugs or somethin’…? Of course it’s real,” he said, taking a step closer with eyes slightly narrowed in worry. Instinctively Sam motioned to back away, lifting his hands into the air a little – but his calves merely bumped into the mattress on the bed when he moved. His brother instantly picked up on it and stopped in his tracks, just searching Sam’s eyes with his own.

“Listen, you gotta talk to me, man…” he said in a soft voice. Sam’s tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth and he felt a wave of nausea wash through him when he thought of what had happened. Or hadn’t it happened? Either way he couldn’t get himself to explain it to his brother.

“How long… What time is it?” he asked, his glance flicking to the clock on the wall and answering his own question. It was 4:30 in the morning. If he recalled correctly he had left the bar at around midnight and then passed out on that bed right behind him shortly after.

“How long have I been…. Out?” he then asked, trying to keep his voice from shaking. Dean shrugged.

“Dunno. You were sleeping when I got home,” he said, concern lacing his voice. Sam swallowed and tried to get his mind to stop whirling around in such a big, confused frenzy, attempted to calm himself down enough to figure out what the hell was going on. Surely he had to know what was real and what wasn’t? It couldn’t be that hard. Could it? Dumbfounded he patted the flannel again, letting his fingers slide across the soft fabric. It was definitely real. 

“So… It’s… It was just a dream…?” he heard himself ask meekly, shuddering a little. He didn’t know what to believe. It had felt so extremely vivid. It was like he could still feel the man’s hands on him, could still feel him inside of him, even. Nausea rolled through him again, this time threatening to make bile rise so high in his throat that he might not be able to hold it down. 

“I need to take a shower,” he rasped. Dean’s eyebrows immediately lifted up into two inquisitive arcs as he looked at his younger brother:

“What? Now?” he asked, but stepped aside with a frown when Sam hurried past him towards the bathroom. 

“Alright, but—” Dean mumbled in confusion, but he was cut off as Sam disappeared into the adjoining room, closing the door behind him a little harder than necessary.

Feeling drops of sweat roll down his forehead Sam just let his back rest against the door for moment, hands splayed out on the smooth wood of it while his heart raced and pounded away in his chest. It was hammering against his sternum hard enough to blur his vision a bit with each beat, and for a moment he wondered if he was having a heart attack. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath. _‘Calm down,’_ his mind instructed. _‘Just calm down’._

Letting out a long and shaky exhale he convinced himself to open his eyes, and he almost expected to be looking at chequered linoleum as he did – but it was still the motel bathroom he was seeing. _“Of course it is,” _his mind stated, but it didn’t really sound confident. Running his hands through his hair he dared to look at himself in the mirror, glance fixing on the dry chestnut locks – as if he didn’t trust what his fingers were feeling. His hair _was_ indeed dry. _‘It always was,”_ his mind said, and he placed his hands on the sink, supporting himself on it for a moment.

“It was just a dream…” he whispered, swallowing thickly. Carefully he let his gaze wander over the flannel, trying to spot anything out of the ordinary in his reflection. But he found nothing. Nothing at all. Everything was exactly the way it had been before he fell asleep. Clenching his jaw muscles he realized that he was looking at everything but his own eyes in the mirror. For some reason he didn’t dare. But why? Why couldn’t he look himself in the eye? _‘Get it together!’ _his mind ordered, but still he couldn’t meet his own glance.

“Just a dream,” he whispered once more, gripping the edges of the sink hard enough to turn his knuckles a milky white. And finally it felt like his heart rate was slowing down just a little, letting him breathe almost normally. Almost. How could a damn dream have so much power over him? He had had plenty of nasty nightmares before which had left him to shortly question his own sanity, even question reality for a moment. But never like this. _‘Just let it go,’_ his mind said, and he felt himself nodding slowly.

Avoiding his reflection in the mirror he reached over and turned the faucet on in the shower, water instantly spurting out of the showerhead above in fat drops. God, he wanted a shower so badly. Not that he was really that sweaty, but the dream had just left him feeling like he needed to wash off countless layers of filth. Get scrubbed clean. _‘It might clear your head a little as well,’_ his mind huffed. Still, as he pulled off his shirt and shed his jeans and underwear, he couldn’t help but quickly flick his gaze up to the mirror to check for bruises. But of course there were none. _‘Get a grip already!’_ his mind scolded, and he stepped into the shower, letting out a small sigh.

As the cascades of hot water rained down on him, he just tipped his head upwards a bit and let the drops hit him straight in the face. For a moment he kept standing like that, kept focusing on the thrumming of the drops against his skin. It felt surprisingly soothing. Only when he felt his skin heating to the point where it began to sting he stepped back and rubbed his hands over his face and through his hair, flicking off the excess water. He was just about to turn around and give his back the same treatment when a thought occurred to him – maybe he should just check before getting completely drenched? _‘Don’t be ridiculous!’_ his mind snapped at him. Yet still he couldn’t help but let his fingers carefully slip in between his cheeks, gently feeling around for anything out of the ordinary. He almost expected to get his fingers coated in sticky lube or blood – but there was nothing. Everything felt pretty normal. Just like it should. _‘Idiot,’_ his mind grumbled, and he let out a small huff. 

Feeling his muscles starting to slowly relax a little as the hot water kept pouring down over him, he grabbed the shampoo bottle and squeezed a generous amount of it out in his hand. Starting with his feet he began to scrub, covering himself in soap and rubbing it into his skin thoroughly. Taking his time and almost beginning to savor the feeling of the shower, the horror of the dream seemed to grow just a tiny bit more distant. He was grateful for that. It felt like he could finally begin to tell the difference between dream and reality again, and he started to breathe a little more evenly as he rubbed the soap around. 

When he was done with his nether region, he moved his hands up to his chest and arms, scrubbing vigorously and covering himself with the shampoo – but just as he slobbered the soap over his right arm, he thought he noticed something below all of the bubbly foam. Something that didn’t really belong. Frowning he let his hand slide back and forth over the slippery skin, tried to make out whatever it was he thought he saw. _‘Probably nothing,’_ his mind scoffed. As he turned around a little water streamed down his arm and washed away the foam – and his eyes narrowed to focus on the area. What _was _that? Lifting his arm up towards his face a little, his eyes were finally able to see it sharply. And suddenly it felt like he couldn’t breathe. In a millisecond goosebumps spread everywhere on his body and the world seemed to turn in on itself as pure dread engulfed his mind. There, on the inside of his elbow, was a small dot that hadn’t been there before. A dot of red. A dot the size of a pinprick. 

**THE END**


End file.
